Times Like These
by ariel2me
Summary: AU where Robert Baratheon died, Rhaegar Targaryen did not kidnap or run away with Lyanna Stark, and Lyanna Stark married Stannis Baratheon.
1. Chapter 1: Lyanna I

In the end choices were not really choices at all. A mirage at best. "You do not have to marry him," her father had said. "The betrothal was with Robert, not his brother." But Lyanna knew how much hope her father had put on joining House Stark with House Baratheon. A powerful and influential House in the south, with ties to the ruling Targaryens through a grandmother. More powerful than House Tully, whose elder daughter Brandon was betrothed to.

_What does it matter who I marry? This lord or that lord_. Lyanna had given up on happiness the moment she saw the look on Elia Martell's face as she walked in on her husband holding Lyanna's hand.

She had not been looking at Princess Elia's face, or anyone else's, when Rhaegar had presented her with the blue roses at the tourney. She had seen nothing, noticed nothing, perceived nothing.

_Except his face. Except his face. Except his face._

She had grieved for Robert. Not just for Ned's sake, but for her own. She _had_ loved Robert, perhaps more like a brother, but there had been love nonetheless. A hunting accident at the Vale. Ned blamed himself for not being there. Brandon had smirked and said if it had happened at Storm's End, there might be cause to doubt that it _was_ an accident.

Lyanna had thanked the gods Ned was not there to hear that. But she was curious nonetheless.

"Why? Why would anyone think that?"

Because of Robert's middle brother, Brandon explained. Stannis Baratheon. Everyone knew the two of them did not get along.

"From what Ned said of him-"

"But Ned likes everyone. And he trusts people too easily. You know that."

She did not press the issue. Nor did she bring up the subject with Ned, mired in grief as he was. _Oh Ned, you still have your two brothers here, _she wanted to tell him, but never did.

So when Stannis Baratheon finally came to Winterfell to "discuss the state of things", as her father had put it, Lyanna was curious to meet this middle brother. Robert had not spoken of his brothers to her much, but she suspected Robert had never spoken to her about the things that really mattered, the way he had with Ned.

Her father had forbade her from riding out with her brothers to meet his party.

"Southern men prefer their ladies gentle, in a dress and not a riding breech."

"Robert never seemed to mind."

"Robert is dead. This is his brother. We know almost nothing about him, except that he is a southerner." Her father had snapped.

_But father, you said I do not have to marry him if I do not wish to._ Lyanna did not bother voicing that thought to her father.

The eyes were what she noticed first. Purportedly looking at her straight in the eyes while they were talking, but not really. His gaze did not so much penetrate her, as it went through her as if she was a shadow. Unsubstantial, unreal to him.

_Look at me! I exist_, she wanted to shout. _Your brother never saw me as I truly am, but at least he saw me, as a living, breathing, flesh and blood._

They had gone through all the required courtesies. He had corrected her calling him 'Lord Stannis'.

"Lord Baratheon."

"Pardon me?"

"It should be Lord Baratheon. The way your father is Lord Stark as Lord of Winterfell, and not Lord Rickard. I am Lord of Storm's End after all."

Lyanna was stunned. Could he truly be this callous, speaking of titles and what he is, now that his elder brother is dead, in front of the woman who was betrothed to his brother?

"Or you could call me Stannis. As you had called Robert by his name," he added in a much quieter tone.

_Well you are not Robert_. But she decided to forgo the 'lord' anyway. _Let's see how uncomfortable a woman calling you by your name will make you, Stannis Baratheon._ She had a feeling it would make him very, very uncomfortable indeed.

"I think we both know what must be discussed, so perhaps we should begin, Stannis?"

She had expected his face to flush, but instead she saw the blood drained from it.

_Well you did ask me to call you 'Stannis'._

"Will you consent to marrying me, in place of Robert, Lady Lyanna?"

Blunt and to the point. She might enjoy sparring with this man after all.

"Lyanna, please. It is only fair for me to return the courtesy. Should you not answer the question first? Do you consent to marrying the woman once betrothed to your brother? Perhaps you already have a choice of your own."

_Let's see if he can say 'Lyanna' without choking on his words._

"The fact that I asked the question implied my own intention, did it not? I would not have asked the question unless I was ready to marry you. I am not the beloved, admired man that my late brother was, but I will stick to my marriage vows, I can promise you that." He paused. "Lyanna."

He enunciated each syllable of her name clearly, for emphasis. And a subtle dig at Robert too. Lyanna had to stop herself from smiling. _You're trying too hard to appear unconcerned, Stannis Baratheon._

"But perhaps," he continued, after he realized she was not going to reply, "perhaps you have other reasons for not wishing to marry me. Or even Robert, were he still alive."

_He knew. He knew about Rhaegar_. But how could he have known? And if he knew, did Robert know too? Robert had stayed at Winterfell after the tourney, his words and actions towards her did not indicate that he ever suspected anything.

_It doesn't matter_, she realized. This man is not Robert, keen to live in an idealized world with the woman he idealized and idolized.

"I will not insult us both by pretending that I do not know what you were speaking of. Whatever it was that you may have heard about myself and Prince Rhaegar, it is no longer an issue. It had ceased being an issue after the tourney at Harrenhal. I was ready to marry Robert."

"Ready to marry him, but not to love him? You were ready to marry my brother, yet your heart still belonged to another?"

She laughed inside at how quickly he had changed. From the insecurity of a little brother living in the shadow, to indignation on behalf of the elder brother, that he had somehow been disrespected, treated less than fairly, betrayed.

"Whatever it was I did or did not feel for the Prince, he is a married man. Nothing will ever come of it. And if we have betrayed anyone, it was only in our hearts."

"Then I suppose there is no reason why we should not marry."

_Curious that he had not asked if I would continue the betrayal in my heart, after our marriage_, Lyanna thought later. Surely that would have been the question foremost in any man's, or any woman's mind. But not Stannis Baratheon apparently.

So they were married, and Lyanna Stark of House Stark, Winterfell and the north became the mistress of Storm's End. The first time Maester Cressen gave her the tour of the castle, with Renly trailing, holding on to her dress, it struck her that contrary to what she had always believed, Robert _had_ talked to her about something that mattered after all.

He had told her about Storm's End, in great and loving detail. Every room, every corridor, every corner. She knew where she should turn before Maester Cressen showed her the way.

"I will carry you in my arms into the castle, Lya. Shouting, 'here is your mistress at last, come and greet her!' Stannis will purse his lips and grind his teeth and said it's undignified for the Lord of Storm's End to behave this way, but I don't care."

Strange that I thought more of Robert than _him_ lately, she thought.

But of course she knew she should not be thinking of either one of them. It should be her husband in her thoughts. Stannis.

_He is afraid of me_, she realized. _No, not of me, but of the closeness of me._ Not the physical closeness, of two bodies intertwined, or even the ecstasy, as she had suspected in the beginning. It was not the joy and the release he feared, it was the moments in between. When you were looking at someone, _really_ looking at someone, and it revealed a fundamental truth about them. Whatever it was, he did not want her seeing it.

"A man in the throes of passion is not himself," she had been taught by the septa at Winterfell before the wedding. "Men have ... needs," she was told, and if her husband was not as gentle as he could be, well, the more important thing was how he treated her the rest of the time, outside the bedroom.

She had thought this ridiculous. What would the septa, whom Lyanna had loved dearly, but had never married herself, know about marriage, or the marital bed? She wished she could have asked her mother, but her mother was long gone. Ned was the brother she was closest too, the one she spoke to about most things, but she knew that shy, gentle Ned had not had any experience with women. And Brandon, well, Brandon would have probably told her to spread her legs and do her duty to her husband.

She had not realized at first, that first night at Storm's End, that the room they were in was not meant as _their_ room, that it was _her_ bedchamber. Until he got up and started dressing. She could still hear the guests singing and hollering downstairs.

"Are you going back to the feast?"

There had been a feast to welcome the new mistress of Storm's End. And to celebrate the wedding, for those who did not make it to Winterfell for their wedding. Maester Cressen must have arranged everything.

He looked surprised. "Why would I?"

"Then ..."

"I'm going back to my room."

Her parents had always shared the same room, until her mother's death, when her father had moved into another room on another side of the castle, as far away from the one he had shared with his wife.

_Is this punishment, for telling the truth about Rhaegar? Should I have lied?_ No, she thought. He is shrewd enough to have known. And he would have despised me for lying.

And more importantly, she would have despised herself.

He did not seem to notice anything was amiss. He acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world, leaving her in the middle of the night. And yet Lyanna had heard all the stories from Robert about his parents, and how loving they were to each other. Steffon and Cassana Baratheon certainly did not sleep in different rooms. So where did Stannis Baratheon get the idea that it was fine to treat his wife as if she was a whore, to be visited at his convenience, and then left alone? Certainly not from his parents.

_And yet I doubt he has ever been to a whorehouse._

She would not consent to be treated this way. She was not the type for tears and recriminations, and she knew neither would work with this man anyway.

She started dressing.

"If you are more comfortable in your own bedchamber, then we should make that our room."

"But ... I thought perhaps you would be more comfortable here."

She looked around the sparsely decorated and furnished room. "It is not so wonderful that I will regret leaving it for another." She stared at him, smiling the whole time.

He seemed like he wanted to say something else. His jaw clenched and unclenched several times. She lost count.

"Very well," he finally said.

His room was even more sparsely furnished and decorated than the one they had just left, but it was bigger. She walked into the room ahead of him, looking around. He hesitated at the door.

"I will have my lady's maids move my things from the other room in the morning."

"But ... how will ... the squire, and the lady's maid ..."

She opened a door on the side, leading to a smaller room. His study. It was impeccably neat, not a piece of paper out of place.

"Your squire can dress you in the study, and I suppose you would have to remove yourself there too when my lady's maids are in the room, to spare them any blushes. Would that work?" She gave him another smile.

_He is thinking of other objections to make_, she thought. _I will have the solution for those too, Stannis Baratheon._

Finally he said, "You seem to have thought of everything."

"I am a Stark. We are always prepared for anything."

Her husband was impatient, and blunt. His words and commands lacked the friendly veneer Robert's words and commands had. Robert's ferocity and will had been hidden behind all the jokes and backslapping. Robert's anger could be explosive, terrifying even, as Ned said, but it was easily cooled, easily mended, easily forgotten.

Stannis' anger was slow-building, but harder to dissipate. A command defied or not carried out to his satisfaction in the morning could still be begrudged at dinnertime. He nursed his anger silently at first, and the explosion, when it came, was more terrifying than Robert's ever was. Because his anger felt more controlled, more deliberate, rather than Robert's wild, uncontrolled expression.

But he had never yelled at her. Not once. They had not argued either. Well, she had argued, but he had always answered impassively. He had left most of the household running to her. She had made many changes. He had disliked some of them.

But it was usually Cressen who told her, not him. _My Lady, His Lordship wondered. My Lady, His Lordship suggested. My Lady, His Lordship thought perhaps._ All the verbs were the maester's own, and not her husband's, she knew. His would probably be closer to "tell her" and "let her know".

_Coward_, she thought.

And yet at times she wondered if being married to someone like Stannis had its advantage. Robert would not have left her alone. He would have wanted to know what she was thinking, and feeling, at all times. "Are you happy? Do I make you as happy as much as you have made me?" He had often asked, after the betrothal. It had felt suffocating. She would have lied to Robert, probably. Stannis would never ask that question, she knew.

_Can any woman make him happy? Is Stannis even capable of happiness?_

_I would have made Robert happy. Perhaps not happy enough to be content with one bed, but certainly happier than his brother. _

She did not ponder her own happiness. The look on Elia Martell's face had killed any dream she had about love, or happiness. A love that could hurt another, to that degree, was not a love she wished to cherish.

In bed one night, months after the wedding, she finally asked Stannis how, and what, he had known about her and Rhaegar. It was impulsive, she had not planned it.

"Nothing. I was not present at the tourney. I only heard about Rhaegar crowning you Queen of Love and Beauty over his wife."

"And that was enough to make you suspect something?"

"You confirmed it, when we met for the first time."

"Do you want to know what actually happened?"

A long pause. "I know ... nothing truly happened. Our first night, there was ... blood-"

"That is not the only kind of betrayal there is."

"You and Robert were only betrothed. You were not yet married."

"Rhaegar was married."

"Then it was him who betrayed his wife."

"But she looked at _me_. Not him."

"Who?"

"Elia. Princess Elia. His wife."

"When he gave you the blue roses? Of course, it's only natural that-"

"No, not then. Later. When Rhaegar and I met later. We were ... talking, and he took my hand ..."

Their right hands had been clasped together, hers and Stannis, a remnant of their coupling earlier. She could feel his grip loosening. _Not this hand_, she wanted to say. _It was the other one._ In truth, she could not remember now which hand it had been.

She heard her husband took a deep breath. His grip tightened again. He nodded. "Go on, finish your story."

"Elia saw us. And she had this ... look on her face."

"If she was angry at you, but not at her husband, then she is a fool."

She shook her head. "No, she was not angry. Or even sad. She was ... resigned. Hopeless. Beyond anger or sadness. He asked me to run away with him. And I wanted to say yes, despite father, my brothers, Robert, home, duty, everything. But her face ... I couldn't."

He was silent, and breathing so quietly for so long she wondered if he had fallen asleep. But no, he appeared to be deep in thought.

"What are you thinking?"

"Prince Rhaegar seemed more thoughtless and reckless that I thought. I have always assumed that he is .. more stable than his father. But if he was willing to throw everything away for a woman ... What would Dorne have done, if Princess Elia was treated that way? And Robert? Your father? How could he have considered forsaking his duty for love?"

She did not know whether to laugh or weep. She had told Stannis something she had never told anyone, even her dearest and closest brother Ned, and his response had been an examination of Rhaegar Targaryen's fitness as a ruler.

"I did not consider those things either."

"You are not the heir to the Throne. And you told him no. You were the one who decided."

"You have never asked me if I loved him."

"Does it matter?"

"To you, or to me?"

"To ... us, I suppose. You said 'loved', not 'love'. Why should it matter now?"

_Because you are a man who nursed your grievances like a dog with a bone. A man who forgets nothing._ But Lyanna did not say this to her husband.

She could see that he was struggling to find more words.

"I thought it would be enough." She broke the silence, long after it had become unbearable to her.

"What would be?"

"This. Us. Together, but apart."

"If I am ... cold, or less than I should be to you, it is not because of you and Rhaegar. Or you and Robert."

He had turned his face away from her, as he was saying those words. She put her hand on his cheek, and turned his face to look at her once more.

"I know. And somehow that made it even worse."

They were looking at each other, really looking at each other, for the first time.

"It is not a one way road," he said.

"I know. It is not only your heart that saddens me, my own does too," she said.

"So what do we do?" He asked.

"Our duty," she replied.

She leaned for the kiss, but he was faster. His lips reached hers first.


	2. Chapter 2: Stannis I

She had married him for duty, he had always believed. The truth, as always, turned out to be not as simple. It was because of duty. It was not, strictly speaking, merely because of duty. It was because of a look on another woman's face. It was not, strictly speaking, merely because of a look on another woman's face.

She had married him out of despair, he finally concluded. And guilt. That she had caused pain to another, with a love she had once cherished. What did that make him? Her way of punishing herself? Her way of expiating her guilt and regret?

_Her husband. It makes me her husband. No more and no less._ Repeating the words to himself did not make him believe them more.

Her newfound openness perplexed him. Robert, even amidst his infatuation and idolization of Lyanna Stark, had let slip one disappointment. "She's so … reserved. I don't know what she's thinking most of the time."

"She barely knows you," Stannis had replied without much interest. "What do you expect, that she will tell you all her _hopes_ and _dreams _and how _ecstatic_ she is about marrying you?" Robert had not been amused.

Yet since that night she finally told him all that had transpired between herself, Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia, it was as if a floodgate had been opened. She told him many, many things. Things she said she had not shared even with Ned.

She told him about fighting at the tourney. About Rhaegar finding her and unmasking her, but keeping her secret.

_So it was not merely a silly and shallow infatuation, crowning her Queen of Love and Beauty_. The thought ought to be somewhat reassuring - at least the Crown Prince seemed to still have _some_ sense -and yet it was not reassuring at all. He did not understand why.

She told him of her tears listening to Rhaegar's song. "I thought my tears were for his pain, but they were all for mine. Mine and mine alone."

He did not know what to say to that. _Did you hate it that much? The thought of marrying my brother?_ He wanted to ask, but never could.

_Did you cry too, when you knew you had to marry Robert's brother? That his death in fact did not set you free?_

If he was truly honest with himself, what perplexed him more, in fact, what alarmed him more, was her obvious expectation that he would reciprocate the gesture. That he would also tell her things he had never told anyone.

"Have you ever loved anyone?"

"My parents, of course. Renly." He paused. "Robert too, I suppose," he continued grudgingly.

"No … I meant, a woman."

"My mother is a woman."

She laughed. "Oh Stannis! That's beneath you. Taking refuge in technicalities."

"It's the truth," he insisted, and changed the subject to Renly's unruly behavior that morning.

It was a life of sort they were building, one he had never envisioned for himself. Lord of Storm's End. Husband of Lyanna Stark of House Stark and Winterfell. He woke up each morning feeling a pretender. No, he was already a pretender every night in her bed. Every touch, every caress, every kiss, every … union, he thought, _this should not be me, here._ He refused to meet her eyes. Those shrewd eyes, they would know, would see through him, would cut through his defenses as easy as a sharp knife cutting through butter.

She was not unhappy. She was not happy. She was beyond all that, the way she said the look on Elia Martell's face was beyond anger and sadness. She was merely numb.

One day, she announced, out of the blue, "I've decided to be happy. I've decided to stop punishing myself."

He had not been wrong after all, about her reason for marrying him. And yet, it finally dawned on him, what choice did she have, in the matter? She would wed the man her father wanted her to wed. Her 'reason' did not matter in the slightest in the end.

_Was that the pain that made you cry, listening to Rhaegar's song? _

Instead like the fool that he was, he merely said, "I didn't know that's the kind of thing you can just decide, and it will come true."

Miraculously, she did not seem disappointed with his reply. She raised her eyebrows. "Of course it is. Deciding is the crucial step. Until you have decided, you won't start doing the work required to make it come true."

He found it hard to believe at times that she was younger than him. It was as if she had already lived a thousand different lives, lives that he had not shared with her, and had no way of understanding.

"Don't you want to know why?" She asked.

"Why?"

"Why should you want to know? Because you are my husband, it is your duty to know. And to ask, if you don't know."

His face turned red. "No … I meant, why have you decided to be happy? To stop punishing yourself?"

"Because a child deserves more from the parents than mere _not_ unhappiness. It is not enough to be not unhappy, when you are a parent."

Robert would have grabbed her and spun her around the dining room. Cheered, hooted and yelled, for all the world to know. He was not his brother, but he was still Lyanna Stark's husband. He slid his hand across the dining table and grasped hers. "I have decided too," he said.

"To be happy?" She asked.

He nodded.

She chuckled. "Perhaps that is a journey too far for you at the moment. Perhaps you can decide to be _not_ unhappy. For now. I expect more from you, of course. In time."

Two days later a raven arrived from King's Landing, with a letter from His Grace the king summoning the Lord of Storm's End and his bride to the city to attend Prince Rhaegar's nameday celebration. "We have decided," Stannis repeated the words to himself, over and over again. "We have decided in favor of happiness."


	3. Chapter 3: Lyanna II

Her husband had said nothing when he showed her the letter. A command from a king, not an invitation.

"I can't go. I won't. I am with child, I cannot travel. Tell them that. Maester Cressen will vouch for that."

"Very well."

"It's not because of him. It's her. It's because of her. I cannot …"

"You don't have to go," he said, his tone gentler this time, but his expression still betraying nothing. _Tell_ _me what you are thinking_, she wanted to shout. _Do you believe me?_

She knew what his answer would be. _Do you believe yourself?_ He would have said. And she would have disliked him for that. So she did not ask him the question, because she had decided to be happy.

Did she believe herself? She did not ask herself that question either.

In the end she decided that she would go. Because her father, brothers and new sister-in-law would be there. Because the distance between Storm's End and King's Landing was shorter than the distance between Storm's End and Winterfell. Because she wanted to prove a point to her husband. Because she wanted to prove a point to herself.

_He is nothing to me. Nothing at all. _

At times it seemed to her that the world was full of people trying to prove a point, either to themselves or to other people. Brandon's wedding to Catelyn Tully had been full of them. Barbrey Ryswell smiling and flirting with Ned, while her eyes stared daggers at Catelyn Tully when she thought no one was watching. That strange ward of Lord Tully, whose name Lyanna could not recall now, all attention and soft words to Catelyn's younger sister, while his eyes stared daggers at Brandon, when he thought no one was watching.

_Run, Ned. You deserve more than to be her second choice. _

But she knew Ned was in no real danger from Barbrey Ryswell. Their father would never allow the match, for one thing. _A Lannister perhaps, for Eddard_, Lyanna had heard the maester speaking with her father. _Pity the Tyrell has no daughter at a suitable age for Ned_, her father had replied.

_Run, Lysa. His eyes do not see you. Only your sister. _

She wanted to say this to this woman she did not know. This fragile girl she did not know. Catelyn's younger sister. Lysa Tully was not trying to prove a point to anyone.

Lyanna's husband had no one to tell him to run. Not even Maester Cressen, who loved him like a son, but treated him like a lord, and thought it not his place to meddle in matters of the heart.

She wished she had known him before the wedding, had cared for him then the way she did now. She would have been the one to tell him to run.

_Run, Stannis. She is a woman who does not know her own heart. _


	4. Chapter 4: Stannis II

There was a defiant glint in her eyes when she told him she would go with him to King's Landing after all. He could not understand it at first. He had not said anything, or done anything, to suggest to her that he did not want her to come.

Or perhaps, he thought later, it was defiance towards her own true wishes. She was going despite herself, despite her own wish. For his sake?

"You don't have to go. If you don't want to," he finally said to her, two days before they were due to depart. Preparations had been made, arrangements had been finalized, yet it took him that long to get those words out.

She had been looking out the window, staring at the sea that was looking calm and untroubled for once. She turned around to look at him. "What did you say? I'm sorry, I was …distracted for a minute."

She had been distracted for days. Since the letter came.

"I said, you don't have to go. To King's Landing. If you don't want to."

Her brow creased. She stared at him for a long while, before asking, "Would you prefer me not to go?"

"No. Of course not. I mean … that is, I don't prefer that you go either."

"I would like to see my father. And Brandon, Ned and Benjen. To tell them the news myself. About the baby."

He had forgotten that they would be there too. "Of course. I thought …"

She waited for him to finish his sentence. When he did not, she stood up and walked towards him, her hands taking hold of his. "You thought what?"

"Nothing. It's …"

_only a silly thought I had_

"… not important."

"I'm coming with you. To King's Landing," Renly suddenly announced at dinner that night.

"No, you're not. Now stop fidgeting and finish your dinner," Stannis replied without looking up from his own plate.

"Yes, I am!" The sound of a spoon being bashed repeatedly on the table grated on Stannis' nerves, but he resolved to ignore the childish tantrum. Paying attention to it would only encourage Renly.

"Tell him, Lya. Tell him I can go with you. Tell him!" Renly finally turned his effort to his sister-in-law, once he realized his brother was determined to ignore him. But she was lost in her own thoughts and did not seem to hear him.

Lya. That was her brothers' name for her. And Robert's. But never Stannis. And certainly not Renly. Where had Renly heard of that? He must have remembered Robert using it. And who said he could call her that?

"I said no! You're not going, and that's that."

Lyanna glared at him. _Do you have to yell at him? He's only a child_, her expression was clearly saying.

"I want to go!" It was Renly's hand hitting the table repeatedly now, instead of the spoon.

"Renly." A word from Lyanna was all it took for him to stop, however. Renly took his hands off the table immediately.

"We'll be back soon. We won't be gone for long," Lyanna said, smoothing back Renly's unruly hair. _He needs a haircut_, Stannis thought.

"What if you don't come back? Robert went away and he didn't come back. Mother and father went away and they didn't come back."

"Of course we'll be back. It's only King's Landing, it's not that far," Lyanna replied.

"Do you promise?"

It was Stannis who replied. "You always want people to promise things. It's not always possible for people to keep their promises. You're growing older now. You need to know that some things are out of our control." He recalled Robert's promise to Renly before he left for the Vale for the last time. "And people shouldn't make promises they don't know they can keep," he snapped.

Renly started crying. Lyanna was hugging him, telling him that he must stay at Storm's End while his brother was away. "There must always be a Baratheon at Storm's End."

Renly perked up listening to that. "Like there must always be a Stark at Winterfell?"

"Yes. How did you know that?" Lyanna smiled.

"Robert told me. I'll stay. I'll take care of things here while Stannis is gone."

_ Just what we need_, Stannis thought. _Renly playing at being Lord of Storm's End._

They argued afterwards, husband and wife.

"He's only a boy, you don't have to be so harsh with him."

"And you shouldn't make promises you cannot keep."

"I didn't promise him anything."

It was the first time they had raised their voices to each other. Shocked recognition filled their faces.

"Forgive me," he said, "I should not have raised my voice."

She laughed. "Our very first fight."

"Hardly a fight, we're just disagreeing," he replied.

"A fight," she insisted.

He accepted that. "Strange that it's about Renly."

"Not so strange. That's what parents usually fight about, their children."

"Renly is not our child. He's my brother."

"No, but we _are_ raising him. Together."

He had never thought of it that way before. Renly was his younger brother, his responsibility since the death of their parents and Robert decamping back to the Vale where he had been fostered.

"As we will raise this child together, when he, or she, comes," she continued, her hand touching her still-flat belly.

_Our child_, he thought.

"You disapprove of my ways with Renly. And you're afraid I will be the same with … with our child. Harsh. Unloving." It was a statement, not a question.

"You love him. I know that you love him. But children, well, they cannot read our minds. I just wish ... you would show him more affection."

"Robert showed him plenty of affection. When he was home, that is. The rare times that he _was_ here. Then he went back to the Vale and forgot all about Renly."

_About us. _

"This is not about Robert. Renly is a boy who lost his mother and father before he ever knew them."

He knew that, knew that better than anyone. But Renly had been spoilt and cosseted by everyone in the castle since the death of Steffon and Cassana Baratheon. Someone had to be the one laying down the law, or his little brother would grow up to be a selfish man thinking of nothing but his own wants and needs. He had never felt the need to explain this to anyone before, but he desperately needed his wife to understand now. And yet words failed him. Inexplicably, and completely unfairly, he knew, he was crossed with her.

_Why don't you know this already? You with your gift, with your eyes that always see more than I want you to see. Why don't you see this? Why don't you understand this?_

_Or has your understanding failed you, because someone else is in your mind? _

He recalled that she had not actually promised Renly that they would be back. She had told him that they would be back, but she had not promised him.


	5. Chapter 5: Lyanna III

Her father looked older. And annoyed. His delight at her news did not last long, the corner of his mouth curdled when he caught sight of Lord Tywin and his daughter. "His offer was rebuffed," Benjen had written to Lyanna. "And not in a very kind way."

Lyanna was not surprised. What was her father thinking? Ned, dear, sweet, gentle Ned, one of the best men Lyanna ever knew, but for all that, he was still only a second son. He would not be Lord Stark of Winterfell. He would not be inheriting any castle. The proud Lord Tywin would not be content with that for his one and only daughter.

"Now it's the daughter of one of father's bannermen for Ned. To ease the discontent among them for marrying off both you and Brandon to southerners," Benjen had continued in his letter. "It will be my turn next. Maybe I'll join the Night's Watch instead."

"Don't do anything rash," she had written him back.

_Like I almost did_, she had thought, but not written.

_At least you have other options_, she had also thought, but not written to her brother. At least men had other options. The Night's Watch, the Kingsguard, training to be a maester, all considered honorable paths for sons of noblemen not inclined to wed according to their fathers' wishes. Or not inclined to wed at all.

_He loves his children_, Lyanna thought, as her father's attention turned towards her again, asking her questions about the maester at Storm's End. _He is not a bad man. He is not doing anything all the other lords in the kingdom are not doing as well. _

It was just the way things were.

"Perhaps I should send our own maester to Storm's End, once your delivery day is near. He's known you all your life, it would be safer."

She glanced at her husband to see his reaction to that, but his face was the way it had been since they arrived at King's Landing. A cipher.

"There is no need, Father. Truly. Maester Cressen is very skilled. He has been delivering babies for years. He delivered Lord Steffon himself, Stannis' father."

"I wish you're not so far away from us. I worry," her father said, touching her right hand.

_Perhaps you should have married me off to someone living closer to Winterfell then_, a bitter voice replied in her head. She drove the nails of her fingers into her left palm to silence the voice, and smiled for her father.

"I know. But we'll send a raven immediately. And you can come to see the baby. And to see Storm's End. You've never seen it."

"Why not come now, Lord Stark? Before you go back to Winterfell. It is not that far from here," her husband suddenly spoke. It surprised her. They had not discussed this.

"What's the matter, Stannis? You don't want us coming to Storm's End once the baby is born?" Brandon was jesting, she knew. But she also knew her husband would not take it as a jest. He was already frowning.

"Don't be silly, Brandon. You can come whenever you want. Only, since you are all here at King's Landing now, it's easier to make the journey." She glared pointedly at her brother, who laughed and said, "It's only a jest, Lya. You've grown so serious now, so prim and proper. Marriage has changed you."

And marriage didn't seem to have changed Brandon at all, Lyanna thought, as she spotted Brandon smiling too brightly at a succession of women throughout the day.

"Brandon is not still up to his old ways, is he?" She asked Ned later, when they finally had a chance to speak alone, just the two of them.

"Old ways?"

"Oh Ned, you know what I mean."

"He loves his wife," Ned insisted.

"Remember what I said about Robert, when we were betrothed? Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature."

"He would have loved you. He would have tried to … to be better, for you."

"You still miss him, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Is that why you've been staying at the Vale?" Her father had not been pleased, Benjen had reported in one of his letters.

"Jon misses Robert too. And if I could be of some solace to him … And Winterfell, well, Winterfell feels like Brandon's home now. Now that he's brought his bride home."

"Father is still Lord of Winterfell. It is still your home, Ned."

"Is it?" His smile was wry and sad at the same time.

She thought of Robert growing up away, and apart, from his own brothers. _My children will never be fostered away from home and hearth and family_, she promised herself. _I will have my way in that, if nothing else._

"What about you, Lya?" Ned asked.

"What about me?"

"Are you … happy?"

"I am to be a mother. I have to be happy."

"_Have to_?"

"For the sake of this baby."

"Not for your own sake?"

"You ask too many questions, dearest Ned."

"Does he … does he love you? Your husband."

She pondered the question for a long while. "I don't know. But I do not know if I love him either. Perhaps that is for the best. It is worse for a marriage if the love is only from one side."

"Why can't it be from both?"

Her dearest brother, older than her, but more naïve in some ways.

"What is love anyway, Ned? I care for my husband, and he cares for me. We are … kind to each other, or at least we try to be. That is enough, I should think."

"Is it enough for you, Lya? Truly?"

"It has to be," she insisted, whether to convince herself or to convince Ned, she was not certain.

"Why did you ask them to come to Storm's End now?" She asked her husband that night.

He looked contrite. "I'm sorry. I should have discussed it with you first. Having so many guests when you are already under so much pressure. I thought it makes sense for them to come, since they are so close to Storm's End."

"It's fine. They're not guests, they're my family." _What did he mean by 'under so much pressure'?_

But they _would_ be guests to her husband. She wondered if it would make him uncomfortable, having them at Storm's End. Of course it would, she realized. He was already clenching and unclenching his jaw, as if in anticipation of a painful ordeal. She would be woken up later in the night by the sound of his teeth grinding, she was certain.

Her family thought him odd, she knew. So different from Robert with his friendly, back-slapping ways. "Unfriendly," Benjen had said. "A prig, a very unpleasant prig," Brandon had said. "Why does he always look like the sky has fallen down?" Her father had asked, but only after the wedding, only after the alliance had been secured. Ned was the only one who had not said anything either way.

The only family Stannis had left had adored Lyanna from the very first moment she set foot inside Storm's End. Renly treated her like a mother, sister and savior rolled into one.

Would Stannis' father and mother have liked her, if they were still alive? Or would they think her odd too, a wild northern girl lacking the fine courtesies and refinements of southern women?

"Would your parents have agreed to the match? If they were still alive?" She asked her husband.

"The match?"

"Robert marrying me. Or you marrying me."

He was silent for a long time. "I don't know," he finally answered.

_Well, at least he's being honest_, she thought.

"I used to do it all the time, wondering, what would Mother think? What would Mother do? What would Father think? What would Father do? At some point … I realized … I can't know the answer. I don't remember them well enough to know. In fact, I never knew them well enough to know," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper.

She had not expected this. Her hand touching his cheek gently, she replied, "My father is still living and I can't tell what he might think, or do, either. I don't think we can ever truly know our parents."

"Maybe not," he said, smiling a smile that seemed more a grimace, but a smile still.

It was only after her husband had fallen asleep, and she was drifting into the land of dreams herself that Lyanna realized that she had not thought of the two people who had consumed her thoughts for weeks at all that day. She had not thought of the Crown Prince and his wife even once that day.


	6. Chapter 6: Stannis III

"Find a bride for my son, cousin. He has no sister to wed." That had been the mission, commanded by a king.

"I grieve for them," the prince had said, to the sons of Steffon and Cassana Baratheon, his eyes indeed, full of grief. _The poor, melancholic prince, _people had said. His life besieged by tragedy, from the day he was born, during the great fire at Summerhall.

"He is beloved, the stuff of songs and stories. Why shouldn't our parents' death be appropriated as _his_ tragedy too? _His_ great sorrow," Stannis had replied to Robert's complaints. Robert had been surprised, and angry. Stannis had not been. How could you be surprised, or angry, at something you knew would happen in the first place?

How beloved would he still be if people knew? That he had contemplated breaking his vows to his wife?

_Probably more beloved. The figure of romance to many_, Stannis scoffed. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that he disliked most people. Their foolish notions and trivial pursuits and frivolous concerns.

Rhaegar Targaryen seemed to be the furthest thing from the Stark brothers' minds.

"Lyanna would have wielded a sword, if Father would have let her," Ned had told Stannis.

"Father!" Brandon had scoffed. "Even our lord Father could not change the way of the world for his daughter. Women do not fight."

"The Mormont women do. They fight to protect their homes and lands from the Ironborn," Benjen had said. "And anyway, Lya was always a better swordsman than you. And a better rider. You're just jealous, Brandon."

"Better than me? I don't think so. But certainly better than you," Brandon had replied. "And probably better than you, Stannis."

The brotherly banter was beyond Stannis. He had listened in silence, his eyes darting from one brother to another. Had wondered too if Robert had joined in on the banter, on the occasions when he had met all three Stark brothers. Or if Robert had felt out of place, his brotherhood with Ned a thing in its own right, not expansive enough to encompass all the Stark brothers.

_Or Robert's own brothers. _

"Promise me our children will never be fostered, and separated from one another," Lyanna had whispered in his ear, late one night. He had pretended to be asleep. He had not promised her that.

He wondered now, after listening to her brothers' words, what her dreams had been about. Before she was a wife. Before she was a wife who had to extract a promise from her husband about their future children.

He wondered too, if Rhaegar Targaryen had promised her anything.

He was left alone with Ned Stark when Brandon got up to look for his wife, and Benjen was summoned by his father. A still-grieving Ned Stark, from the look and sound of it. Grieving for the man who was not really a brother, a man who had real brothers of his own.

Except they _were_ brothers, in all the ways that mattered, Stannis knew. Ned and Robert. In all the ways that really counted. He did not doubt the sincerity of Ned's grief for Robert, just as he had not doubted the sincerity of Rhaegar Targaryen's grief for his parents, years ago.

Not doubting their sincerity, however, did not make him like them any better.

"There is a delicate matter I wish to speak to you about, Stannis." Ned's voice was uncertain.

"Regarding?"

"Robert. Well ... a … a … child of his. In the Vale."

"You mean his bastard?" Stannis was not mincing words.

Ned flinched at the word 'bastard', before continuing. "His daughter. Mya. Mya Stone. Robert … was very fond of her. He visited her from time to time, playing with her. No doubt if he had lived, he would have made further arrangements regarding her future."

"Did he acknowledge this child as his bastard?"

"Yes, he did, to me. And it is …well, it is common knowledge at the Vale, who this child's father is. She looks so like him. The hair. The eyes." Ned had a faraway look in his eyes.

"And what is it that you wish for me to do?"

"For this child to be taken care of. Robert would have wanted that."

Stannis did not share Ned's certainty about what Robert would have wanted. Or would have done, had he lived.

"The child will be provided for. House Baratheon does not shirk our duty, even to baseborn children. But she must remain at the Vale," Stannis replied.

"Of course." Ned looked taken aback. "I was not suggesting that she should be brought to Storm's End. Not at all."

Stannis wondered if Lyanna had known. He doubted that Ned had told her.

But would Ned have told her, if she had asked?

Even the closest people held secrets from one another. Lyanna had not told even Ned, her closest brother, about Rhaegar Targaryen. What secrets would Ned have kept from his sister, for Robert's sake?

"Is Renly well?" Ned asked suddenly.

"Yes," Stannis replied stiffly.

"Not … missing his brother?"

"Children recover quickly. And Robert was not often home." He did not regret the bluntness of his words.

Ned did not speak of Robert again after that. They stayed silent for a while, before talking about the coming tourney. Brandon and Benjen would be fighting, but not Ned. And not Stannis.

And not Rhaegar Targaryen. Not at the tourney celebrating his own nameday.

Later in the day, when they caught sight of the Crown Prince striding through the field, and their eyes followed him carefully as he made his way to the raised dais, Stannis wondered if contrary to Lyanna's belief, Ned had known something after all. Or had suspected something, at least.

Their eyes met across the table, Stannis' and Ned's, after Rhaegar Targaryen finally found his seat. Next to his wife. Ned was the first to look away.


	7. Chapter 7: Lyanna IV

Her sister-in-law reminded Lyanna of her late mother. Or perhaps, Lyanna revised her thoughts, it was more that Catelyn was acting like a mother towards her, fussing about the pregnancy, worrying about the journey back from King's Landing to Storm's End, wondering if perhaps Lyanna should take up her father's offer to send the maester from Winterfell to deliver her baby.

_She has been like a mother to her younger sister and brother for years, since her own mother's death_, Lyanna reminded herself. _Perhaps she is missing them, living so far away from them now._

Catelyn also reminded Lyanna of Stannis, in a strange way, even though they seemed nothing alike from the outside. Her sister-in-law was excellent with all the common courtesies - unlike Lyanna's husband - greeting this lord and that lord, remembering who was just married, who was having a child, who had lost a child, who was having trouble with a rebellious bannerman or a troublesome neighboring lord. But now and then, Lyanna detected a glimpse of the stubborn and unyielding look she had often seen in her husband's eyes in Catelyn's own eyes.

_This is the way it must be,_ that look seemed to be saying. _Whether we like it or not_.

_Because it is our duty, _Stannis would have added. Lyanna wondered if Catelyn would have said the same thing.

They had been talking about the strangeness of leaving their own home for another. For the home of a husband.

"I think I am still getting used to the way of the north," Catelyn said, with a smile.

"Our god, you mean?"

"That, and much more. Your father very kindly commanded a small sept to be built at Winterfell. Is there a godswood at Storm's End?"

"Yes. Robert had arranged it, after the betrothal," Lyanna replied.

"Robert? Not … Lord Stannis?"

In truth, Lyanna had not set foot in the godswood since the day she arrived at Storm's End, when Maester Cressen had shown it to her. She was not even certain Stannis knew of its existence. But then again, she did not think her husband would care which god she did or did not worship. He very rarely set foot in the sept to pray to the Seven himself.

They met Brandon on their way back to the pavilion. "Cat!" He shouted in excitement. Catelyn was smiling, a genuine smile that softened her features and made her look almost like a girl. Brandon wanted to show his wife a place he had spoken to her about, close to the Red Keep. Lyanna lost the thread of the conversation; it was as if the two of them were speaking in a secret language she was not privy to. She envied them.

But after they left, she thought of Brandon smiling, laughing and flirting with a succession of women, while his wife was out of sight. Was that the extent of it now? Looking and flirting? Or was there more? He was not looking at any other woman when Catelyn was in front of him. They had seemed to be truly enjoying each other's company, Catelyn laughing at Brandon's japes, Brandon listening attentively to Catelyn's news about this lord and that lord.

_If you love someone, why would you take another person to bed? Why would you flirt with another person? Why would you even look at another person?_

Because like she had told Ned once, love could not change a man's nature.

Her sister-in-law struck her as one of the least naïve women she had ever met. Catelyn could not be truly blind to Brandon's fault. Did she consider it her duty, as a wife, to endure it?

Her thoughts turned to the duel Brandon had fought with Lord Tully's ward. "Challenged by a green boy for Cat's hand in marriage," Brandon had told his brothers and sister, and laughed about it for days afterwards. He had spared the boy's life for Catelyn's sake. What would Robert have done, if she had gone with Rhaegar? Rhaegar was no green boy, no mere ward of anyone. He was the Crown Prince. Would Robert have dared to challenge a king's son and heir? He was impulsive enough, Lyanna thought, his fury simmering close to the surface often enough for him to do something foolish he might later regret.

And her brothers and father? What would they have done? And Dorne. The humiliation directed at Princess Elia. What would they have done? And the king, suspicious and paranoid of his own son. What would he have done?

"He thinks I want his throne."

"You will sit on the throne, after his death. You are his heir."

"He thinks I want his throne right now, that I wish to set him aside, that I am plotting with various lords to set him aside and steal his throne."

"Are you?"

He had laughed. "You are very bold, my lady."

"I do not know the way of kings and princes, but I have heard all the stories. Disturbing stories, about your father."

"Don't tell me you believe in mere stories."

"No, but now that I have seen him, and his conduct, with my own eyes …"

_Enough!_ She admonished herself. _Do not think of that conversation. Do not think of any of our conversations. Do not think of his fear or his sadness or his uncertainty. Do not think of his joy or his smile or his laughter. Do not think of him._ She thought of the look on Princess Elia's face instead.

_Delicate_, Lyanna had heard some calling the princess. _Weak_, others had whispered. But there was nothing weak or delicate about the look on her face, the moment she saw Lyanna and Rhaegar holding hands. It was a look beyond anger and sadness, but what Lyanna remembered most was how dignified she had looked as she was walking away. _I would not debase myself by making a scene_, every fiber of her body seemed to be screaming, as she made her way quietly out of the tent.

Lyanna was too busy recalling the past, it took her a while to realize that she was actually standing face to face with the princess now. With Princess Elia and her ladies-in-waiting, who were making their way to the raised dais, where Queen Rhaella and her younger son Viserys were already seated.

_I should not have come. I should not have come. I should not have come. _

She should not have come, for the princess' sake. She had been thinking only of herself, and her own discomfort, and had not spared a thought for Elia Martell's discomfort.

"My princess," she curtsied, trying mightily to keep her expression normal.

The ladies-in-waiting were staring daggers at her. Could they know? Did she tell them, the princess? One look at the princess' face told her that she did not. But Lyanna was still the woman the Rhaegar Targaryen had crowned as Queen of Love and Beauty over his own wife. Even without … everything else, that was scandalous enough.

_How dare she shows her face?_ The women were probably thinking. _How dare she walks around in the presence of the princess as if nothing had happened?_

_I did not ask for the honor_, she wanted to defend herself. _I could not have refused it, not in front of everyone._

She could have refused to speak with him, later. She could have refused to open her heart to him, later. Her defense was incomplete, only partially true.

Princess Elia was smiling. "Lady Baratheon. I was sad to hear of the death of your betrothed, Lord Robert Baratheon."

"It was very sudden and unexpected, my princess."

"And you are now wed to his brother? Lord Stannis Baratheon? I have not had the honor of meeting him. I hope you are not finding living in the south too strange. It took me a while to get used to King's Landing too."

The smile and the kind words, even if they were meant only for the sake of appearance, were sharper than any knives could be, and cut deeper than any swords could have. _Don't! Don't be kind to me. Don't give a warning glance to your ladies-in-waiting to stop their angry stares._

"We should go, my princess. The queen is waiting," one of the ladies-in-waiting spoke.

As she watched Princess Elia walking away, Lyanna's suddenly muddled thoughts turned to Robert and Brandon. And _him_. She had dreaded the thought of marrying Robert, knowing his predilections, expecting him to father a string of bastards all over the Seven Kingdoms even after their marriage. She had judged her own brother harshly, on the same ground. But she had not judged _him_, the married man who had contemplated running away with another woman.

_Because judging him meant I would have to judge myself too. His folly was my folly too. _

Was it folly? She would have called it love, once upon a time.

Her husband's words rang in her ears. _You told him no._ _You were the one who decided._

Not him.

_Why did I have to be the one who saved us from the brink? I was a girl. You were a man, a man with duties and responsibilities. To your people. To your kingdom. To your wife. _

_To your children. _

_Duty._ The voice in her head sounded like her own, but the words could have come straight from her husband's mouth.

She was losing herself. Amidst her guilt and her grief and her uncertainties, she was losing herself.

Was this how she would see the world from here onwards? The way her husband did, as an endless series of duty?

Or perhaps she was merely regaining a semblance of her old self. Before _him_. Before she had let _him_ in her heart.

She would not have called it duty, her old self. She would have called it "considering the consequences of your actions." She would have called it "not being reckless."

_How do you know?_ She despaired. _How can you tell for sure?_

The self that she had truly been. The self that she thought she had been. The self that she thought she always was, and always would be.

_How far could you blame love for losing yourself? _

Her greatest fear, she finally admitted to herself, was that the recklessness had always been in her, from the very beginning. Love was merely the catalyst.

_How far could you blame marriage for losing yourself? _


	8. Chapter 8: Stannis IV

Silence was something he had always welcomed, but the lengthy silence between him and Ned was beginning to trouble Stannis. Ned was not only avoiding conversation, he could not seem to look at Stannis either.

_What do you know, Ned? Of your sister and the prince?_

What did it matter? Lyanna had told him everything herself.

_Had she?_

She was back at the pavilion, sitting next to him before he realized it. Wondering why they were being so quiet, her brother and her husband.

"What is there to say?" Stannis replied. Ned was too busy trying to avoid his sister's gaze to reply. Another uncomfortable silence enveloped them, finally broken by the arrival of a Kingsguard. Barely older than a boy, this one was.

This must be the son of Lord Tywin Lannister, Stannis thought. The newest member of the Kingsguard.

His voice was not a boy's voice, however. "His Grace the king commands Lord Stannis Baratheon to present his new bride at the royal pavilion."

Hardly new, Stannis thought. He and Lyanna had been married for many moons.

Lyanna's face paled. She was looking at the royal pavilion. King Aerys, Queen Rhaella, the young prince Viserys, Princess Elia, and Prince Rhaegar were all sitting at the raised dais. Stannis stood up and started following the boy Kingsguard, before realizing that his wife was still sitting down. He turned back and held out his hand to her. Lyanna did not notice his gesture, she was still staring at the royal pavilion. Stannis followed her gaze.

Who was she watching?

Elia? Or Rhaegar?

_It's not because of him. It's her. It's because of her._ She had told him that, when she refused to come to King's Landing. Before she had changed her mind.

Ned was calling his sister's name insistently. "Lyanna." That broke through her reverie. She finally noticed Stannis' outstretched hand, grasped it with her own, and stood up. Stannis was about to release her hand after they started walking, but she tightened her own grasp. They made their way to the royal pavilion hand-in-hand.

"Your Grace, may I present my lady wife, Lady Lyanna of House Stark."

"You did not invite me to your wedding," the king was grumbling. "The son of my dear cousin was getting married, and I was not invited. If your father was still alive, he would have invited me. But his son did not even have the courtesy to invite his king. And his lord father's own cousin."

The look of the king was a great shock to Stannis. Robert had been the one spending time at court as Lord of Storm's End, even though he had spent very little time at Storm's End himself, preferring to be at the Vale, leaving Storm's End in the hands of the castellan and Stannis. And the king had not left King's Landing for years, except to go to the tourney at Harrenhal. And so Stannis had not seen him since he was a boy.

"Forgive me, Your Grace. I did write to you about the wedding. I did not know that you wished to attend. I thought perhaps the journey would have been too tiring – "

"Storm's End is not that far from King's Landing. And I am well. I am always well. Whose whispers and lies and poisonous words have you been listening to? My son?"

_His son? Does he mean Prince Rhaegar?_ Stannis did not know what troubled water was there between father and son.

"The wedding was held at Winterfell, Your Grace, not Storm's End," Stannis replied.

"I can go to Winterfell. I am strong enough to travel to Winterfell. Or anywhere. They didn't want me to come to the tourney at Harrenhal. Oh, I know, I always know. They whisper and plot behind my back, but I know. I have my own little birds too."

Stannis wondered who "they" were.

The king turned his face to look at Lyanna, who had been looking down the whole time. "Hold up your face, child. Let me see you." Lyanna obeyed the command.

"I know you. Where have I seen your face before?"

_Surely the king remembers_, Stannis thought. He was present at the tourney at Harrenhal.

It was the queen who spoke up. "Lady Lyanna was betrothed to Robert, our cousin Steffon's older son, dear husband. Robert showed us a picture of his betrothed the last time he was at court, before his sad and untimely death."

The queen had not been present at Harrenhal.

"I know who Robert is!" The king was shouting. "Do you think I have lost all my senses that I do not know the son of my own cousin?" His hand, with the long, sharp and uncared for fingernails, was digging into her arm. The queen was biting her lips, pretending not to notice, pretending not to feel anything.

"Father," Prince Rhaegar spoke for the first time. The king looked at his son with an expression close to hatred. Aerys finally removed his hand from his wife's arm, and spoke to Stannis again.

"So you have married her in place of your poor brother. That is as it should be," he nodded vigorously. His hand was suddenly grabbing Stannis' arm, hard. "Tell me, Stannis, are your stormlords loyal to me?"

"They are loyal to their king and their liege lord, Your Grace," Stannis replied.

"And you? What about you? Can I count on the loyalty of the Lord of Storm's End?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

The king scoffed, his grip on Stannis' arm tightening. "They all say that, all these high and mighty lords. And then they plot and plan behind my back. And not just them, my own blood too." The king motioned for Stannis to come closer, and whispered in his ears. "Remember, you and I share some of the same blood. You have Targaryen blood flowing inside you too, from your grandmother. You must stay loyal to me! You must! Even against my own blood."

"I am loyal to my king, Your Grace. That is my duty."

"Good, good." The king released Stannis' arm, and turned his attention to Lyanna again. "When will you do _your_ duty and give your husband an heir?'

Lyanna's face turned red. Stannis was the one who answered. "My wife is with child, Your Grace."

"You are very lucky in your choice of wife. My own only gave me sons, with no sisters to wed them. The bloodline, it must be pure. It must! But now a half-Dornish boy will inherit the Targaryen throne one day."

_How could he say these things in front of his wife? And his Dornish daughter-in-law?_ Stannis wondered. Unlike her husband, Elia Martell did not flinch listening to the king's words, Stannis noticed. The queen looked like she was not there, staring straight ahead, her eyes seeing nothing. Perhaps she had not heard her husband's words. But as Stannis and Lyanna were leaving after being dismissed by the king, she turned towards them and smiled. "Take good care of your wife, Lord Stannis. The early stages of a pregnancy can be very challenging."

He and Lyanna did not speak on the way back to their pavilion. Lyanna's father was back at the pavilion, talking to Ned, his expression grave and serious. Benjen waylaid them at the entrance. "Let's get something to drink," he said. Stannis declined. He did not want a drink.

"Father is talking to Ned about marriage and a good match and his duty," Benjen whispered._ "_Do you really want to be there for that?"

They ended up walking instead of drinking. They walked so far, they ended up outside the tourney ground, Lyanna and Benjen talking the whole way. "Who?" Stannis heard Lyanna asking. "Does Father already have a woman in mind?"

"He's still undecided," Benjen replied. "But it is definitely to be the daughter of one of his bannermen."

They reached a lake with a grassy shore. "Let's stop here," Lyanna said. Stannis surveyed the area. It was secluded, it did not seem safe to him. Tourneys were famous for attracting all sorts of people.

"Perhaps we should find a more ... open and public place," Stannis replied.

Benjen laughed. "You are with your own wife, Stannis. Are you worried people might say this is an improper assignation?"

The youngest Stark brother mystified Stannis. Benjen was usually the voice of reason when Brandon was around. Ned usually stayed silent, deferring to his older brother, Benjen was the one who would respond to Brandon. But when Brandon was not around, he turned out to be the one acting foolish and saying foolish things.

Benjen and Lyanna were already laying down their cloaks on the ground. They sat down, but Stannis remained standing. Lyanna motioned for him to sit next to her. Stannis shook his head. Lyanna and Benjen continued their conversation.

"You would think Father could wait until they're back at Winterfell to speak of Ned's marriage." There was a bitterness in her voice now that he had not detected when she was speaking to her father before.

"He hasn't had a chance to speak to Ned before. Ned came here straight from the Vale," Benjen replied.

"Father could command his children to marry whomever he wants, but he could not command Ned to come home to Winterfell? Ned would never disobey Father, in that, or anything else."

"Pride. He wants Ned to _want_ to be at Winterfell, not come home because he commanded it."

"But not when it comes to marriage?"

Benjen sighed. "There seems to be a great haste for that now. There are certain … rumors going around. Ned has been spending a lot of time visiting a child. At the Vale. Perhaps that is why he prefers to stay there rather than at Winterfell."

Lyanna was laughing. "And Father is worried that this is Ned's child? His bastard? Is Father confusing his two oldest sons from each other? This is Ned we're talking about, not Brandon."

"Yes, but it would be just like Ned to want to care for his bastard, if he does have one," Benjen said.

"It is not Ned's bastard. The child at the Vale. It's Robert's. Perhaps with Robert dead, Ned feels he has some sort of responsibility."

So Lyanna had known after all. Stannis turned his attention to the lake, staring straight ahead, pretending not to hear what his wife had said. She was not fooled, however. As they were making their way back to the tourney ground, she whispered to him, "You know about it too, don't you?" He nodded.


	9. Chapter 9: Lyanna V

Her dream was not of _him_, or his voice, that night. When he had said that one word, 'Father', she had thought her heart would stop beating. A voice she had not heard in ages. They had avoided looking at each other, even glancing at each other, the whole time she was at the king's pavilion. It was deliberate on her part, and she knew, as much as she knew anything at all, that it was deliberate on his part too.

Instead, she dreamt of her husband. And the king. Riding into a great storm.

"What did he whisper to you earlier? His Grace?" Lyanna had asked her husband as they were preparing for bed.

"He wanted to know if the stormlords would be loyal to him. If I would be loyal to him," Stannis replied, without looking at her.

"That's an odd question to ask. In peacetime. It's not like there's a war going on."

"I suppose," her husband shrugged.

"What did you tell him?"

"That he is my king, it is my duty to be loyal to him." Stannis paused, hesitated for a moment before continuing. "He mentioned my Targaryen blood for some reason. It's … odd."

Lyanna smiled. "I forgot about that sometimes. Your Targaryen blood."

"It's not anything worth remembering. I never even met my Targaryen grandmother, she was dead long before I was born."

"Still, it's strange to think that your father and the king are cousins. Were they close?"

He turned to look at her, his expression wary and distracted. Surely her question about his father and the king could not be the source of that?

"I don't know," he finally replied. "But I know that my father was concerned about His Grace. Towards … well, towards the end. _He's surrounded by vipers and liars whispering poisonous words in his ears,_ I heard him say to my mother more than once."

"He seems to think that everyone is against him. The king, I mean," Lyanna said.

"Perhaps they are," had been Stannis' final words on the matter.

She could not fall asleep again, after being awakened by her dream. She had called out to her husband in the dream, but he had not turned around. _Let me see your face_, she had implored. _Turn around._ Her plea had fallen on deaf ears. He had ridden straight into the path of the storm, following his king. The king had been laughing and cackling all the way, the sound of his laughter chilling Lyanna to the bones.

She stared at her husband's sleeping face now, lying next to her, safe from the storm. It was a plain face, she knew. His hair was already thinning, she envisioned him going completely bald in ten, fifteen years. Perhaps even less. He was grinding his teeth in his sleep again, the sound reverberating in the silent room. The mouth that rarely smiled and almost never laughed was shaped into a grimace suddenly. Perhaps he was having a bad dream of his own.

He was mumbling something under his breath, something she could not catch. Should she wake him? Before she could decide, bottomless blue eyes were staring at her, looking dazed and confused. Confusion turned quickly to alarm.

"What's wrong?" He asked. "Did something happen?"

"You were having a bad dream."

He looked embarrassed. "Did I wake you?"

"No, I was already awake."

"You can't sleep? Is it the baby?"

She laughed. "No. It's too early for the baby to start kicking, you know."

"Then …"

"I was dreaming too. And it woke me."

"Something unpleasant?"

"Something … that I don't understand. Yet."

_Ask me what it is_, she implored in her head. _So I can ask you about your dream too._

"We've both had a long day," was all he said, however. They were still staring at each other.

_There's something you want to ask me. Not about my dream, but about something else_, she finally realized.

For the briefest of moment, she thought he was about to ask his question, his mouth opening, only to snap shut again. He was gazing at her so intently, it was as if he was seeing her, truly seeing her, for the very first time. Before she realized what she was doing, she had started kissing him. Her husband responded at first, but then stopped.

"What are you trying to prove to yourself?" He asked.

The words felt like a slap, even though his tone was sad rather than angry. She had not been trying to prove anything, to herself or to her husband, this time. The unfairness of the accusation angered her. Lyanna turned her face away.

"You told me once it didn't matter. If I loved him. Were those merely words?" She said after a while.

"I was … different … then. Marriage has made me different. _You_ have made me different."

"So it's my fault?"

"No, it's mine. For allowing it to happen."

She had thought she was the only one who feared losing herself - in this marriage, in this union, in this life they were trying to build - but perhaps it was a fear her husband had shared too.

_How far could you blame marriage for losing yourself?_ She had wondered before.

Or maybe 'blame' was the wrong word. Maybe it was something that just happened, naturally, when two people were trying to build a life together. In the push-and-pull of who she was, and who he was, and trying to find a common space to occupy, together.

_If that is the case, _Lyanna wondered_, then why are we both resisting it so hard? _


	10. Chapter 10: Stannis V

_Were you thinking of him when you were kissing me?_

_Or did you kiss me to try to erase the thought of him? _

He did not know which possibility would be worse, and so never asked the question.

_What are you trying to prove to yourself?_ He had asked her instead. She had looked at him as if he had committed a great betrayal. But what had he betrayed, exactly? The illusion they were trying to maintain that happiness was a possibility for them? The illusion she wanted to preserve that nothing had changed between them?

_We were better off when I did not care_, he thought. When it did not matter to him what she felt, or thought, about Rhaegar Targaryen. When he could not care less what was, or was not, in her heart. He wanted desperately to blame her. His wife. Lyanna. For showing him hopeful glimpses of something else. For making him want to banish the coldness from his own heart. But in the end, he blamed only himself.

_I should have known better. _The constant refrain of his life.

He should have known better than to believe that the gods would protect his mother and his father.

He should have known better than to believe that Robert would miss his brothers, when he had a new one waiting at the Eyrie.

He should have known better than to believe that happiness was something he was capable of.

They were lying side by side, not sleeping, not talking, not touching, faces turned away from each other. He counted the rise and fall of her breathing, imagined the thoughts running through her head, tried to envision the fear running through her heart. What was it she feared, exactly?

_Living a life she does not wish to live_, a voice replied in his head. _With a man she does not wish to live it with._ He thought the voice sounded like Rhaegar's at first, but it was only his own harsh voice. Deriding him. Mocking him.

_We said the vows, we are married, we are having a child together. This is our life now, whatever our wishes might be._ _It is our duty. _

She was getting restless, tossing and turning next to him. Or perhaps she had fallen asleep, and was troubled by a dream again? He turned his face slightly to sneak a glance. She was wide awake, staring at the ceiling. He finally understood what she had really meant when she told him about the expression on Elia Martell's face. He saw it on Lyanna's face now. Resignation. Hopelessness. A look beyond anger or sadness.

His breath caught. _Did I cause this? Did I do this to you? The way Rhaegar did to his wife? Not with the things that I did, but with all the things that I didn't do._

He had not asked her about her dream, for one. The dream that had troubled her enough to wake her from her sleep.

He stared at the ceiling too, trying to see what it was she was seeing. "What was the dream that woke you before?" He blurted out, before he lost the courage.

She did not reply for ages. Did not take her eyes off the ceiling, or even gave any indication that she had heard his question. He repeated the question.

"Why do you want to know?" She finally asked, her eyes still fixated on the ceiling. Not looking at him.

His own eyes strayed from the ceiling to look at her. He caught her glancing at him very briefly, before she turned her eyes upward again. He was looking at her as he answered her question.

"Because I am your husband, and it is my duty to know. And to ask, if I do not know. You told me that once."

She finally turned to look at him. "I didn't think you'd remember that."

"I remember everything," he replied.

"I wish … you'd forget some things. Let go of certain things, not hold on to things for so long," she said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

"You wish that I am different. That I am not who I am."

"No!" She protested, her voice much louder suddenly. "Just … sometimes …I wish … " She paused. "You are not the only one who is different now, you know. Marriage has made me different too. _You_ have made me different too."

"And that makes you sad?" He asked.

"Yes. No … I don't know. It makes me afraid, actually. Afraid that I won't be who I am anymore. That everything would just be … drowned out. Doesn't that scare you too?"

_Does it?_ He had never examined the question before. "I don't know," he replied. "I don't think I can ever really be anything other than who I am. As I am now."

He realized with a jolt that it was that thought that truly terrified him. Not the thought of marriage or Lyanna making him different, but the thought that he was not capable of ever being different. Of changing. Of crossing the distance between them and meeting her somewhere in the middle. Lyanna must have known that too, when she talked of her fear of being drowned out.

He cannot promise her anything about himself. Only about what he would never ask of her. "I don't expect you to be anyone other than yourself."

She smiled, a sad, wry smile. "Oh, Stannis. It's not about what _you_ expect. It's about … me. Myself. I don't think I can explain it. Not now anyway."

"I'll wait until you can," he replied.

Her hand was suddenly touching his face. She brought her lips closer to his ears, and whispered. "I dreamt of you. And the king. Riding into a great big storm."

"His Grace?" That was a surprise.

"I begged you not to go with him. But you wouldn't listen. You wouldn't even turn around so I could look at your face. And then you both … just … disappeared. Like you were never there in the first place."

He swept back the hair falling messily over her eyes. "It was only a dream. It doesn't mean anything."

"How far would you follow him? His Grace?" Her voice was insistent, almost desperate.

"He is my king."

"And it is your duty to be loyal to him?"

"Yes, it is."

"Will you promise me one thing? That you will remember your duty to your family too? To .. your wife, and your little brother." She took his hand and placed it on her belly. "And to our child."

"I promise."

"Thank you," she smiled. "Now tell me about your dream."

_I dreamt that we grew old together. And you were sad and unhappy. And full of regrets._ He could not tell his wife this. Would not tell his wife this. But he could not lie to her either. So he borrowed her words instead.

"I … don't think I can explain it. Not now anyway." This was not an untruth, he told himself. He truly did not understand why he had dreamt what he did.

She frowned at first, but then burst into a laugh. "I'll wait until you can," she said, after she had stopped laughing.


	11. Chapter 11: Lyanna VI

It was the last day of the tourney marking the Crown Prince's nameday. Benjen had been defeated on the first day, having the misfortune to be matched with Jaime Lannister in the first round. Brandon had made it as far as the last four, only to be defeated by Jon Connington. Jaime Lannister, the boy Kingsguard who had made defeating his other opponents looked so easy, turned out to be not much of a threat to Oberyn Martell, who managed to unhorse him only a few minutes into their battle.

The final joust between Jon Connington and Oberyn Martell, however, was a different affair altogether. Lyanna thought it would never end. The two men traded blows after blows, broke lances after lances, from midday until the sun was almost setting.

"It's almost dark. Surely the king will call a halt to this," Brandon said at one point.

"His Grace is enjoying the spectacle," Lyanna's father had replied, his tone harsh. "No doubt he would enjoy it more if fire is somehow involved. Perhaps they could introduce flaming lances for future tourneys."

"Father." Brandon shot a warning glance to his father. Lyanna could not decipher the looks passing between her father and her eldest brother. She caught Ned and Catelyn staring at Brandon and her father too, their expressions as mystified as her own. Only Benjen seemed oblivious to the tension, his attention focused on Jon Connington and Oberyn Martell, still battling it out on the field.

Lyanna's husband was oblivious too. Stannis had tired of the battle ages ago, Lyanna knew, his eyes fixed on the field where the two men were fighting, but his thoughts wandering far, far away. She touched his arm lightly. He turned to look at her. Brought his head closer to hers, and whispered, "Do you want to leave?"

Leave? Surely they could not leave before the match was over, Lyanna thought. Jon Connington was one of Stannis' own bannermen, House Connington one of the houses sworn to House Baratheon. It would be taken as a grave insult if the Lord of Storm's End and his lady wife left the tourney ground before the battle ended. Her husband must be well-aware of this. She studied his expression. He was studiously avoiding her eyes. She shook her head and said, "No, I'm sure it will be over soon."

It was not, in fact, over, until more than an hour later, when Jon Connington, his reflexes slower after a long, hard-fought battle, was finally too slow to take the reins to control his horse. He fell down to the ground, and Oberyn Martell pounced immediately.

"Too bad," Brandon said. "If Jon Connington had won, he could have named Prince Rhaegar as his queen of love and beauty." A few knights and squires sitting in the tent with them snickered and laughed along with Brandon. Lyanna stared at her brother uncomprehendingly. She did not understand what the men had found so funny.

Oberyn Martell was riding his horse straight to the royal pavilion. He did not stop until he reached Princess Elia. He was naming his own sister as queen of love and beauty. His eyes were not looking at his sister as he was presenting the bouquet of flowers to her, however. His eyes were defiantly staring at his sister's husband. At Rhaegar Targaryen. Staring at him with a fierce, piercing look.

_You shamed my sister at Harrenhal_, Lyanna imagined that look saying. She was so transfixed watching what was unfolding at the royal pavilion, she did not realize that she herself was being watched and stared by other pairs of eyes. _That's her_, Lyanna knew each and every one of them was thinking. _That's the woman the prince shamed his wife for. _

Stannis asking her earlier if she wanted to leave made sense now. He must have known something like this could happen. She cursed herself for her lack of foresight. She turned to look at him, and finally realized that the eyes of the crowd were not only staring at her, they were staring at her husband too. That made her angrier, for reasons she could not explain even to herself. _Leave him be_, she wanted to shout to them. _He had nothing to do with it._ His only sin was being a dutiful brother, marrying the woman his dead brother was betrothed to.

The crowd was cheering for Elia and Oberyn Martell. Princess Elia accepted the bouquet of flowers from her brother, and kissed him gently on one cheek. Lyanna breathed a sigh of relief, it was finally over. Benjen was asking Brandon who he would have named as queen of love and beauty. Brandon took Catelyn's hand and kissed it. "My wife, of course. Who else?" He was about to kiss her full on the lips, when Catelyn shied away. Brandon laughed, "Oh, there's no need to be bashful, Cat. We're among friends and family here."

"What about you, Ned?" Benjen turned to his other brother.

"I was not in the tourney," Ned replied.

"Yes, but if you had been?" Ned looked lost in thoughts. Was he thinking of some girl? Lyanna wondered. Ned had danced with Ashara Dayne at Harrenhal, but had not spoken of her at all after that. At least not to Lyanna.

After a while, Benjen got tired of waiting for Ned's answer, and answered his own question. "I would name the queen."

"The queen? You mean Queen Rhaella?" Brandon asked.

"Yes, Queen Rhaella," Benjen replied.

"Why, Ben?" Lyanna asked her brother.

"Because she looks so sad. And -"

Lyanna's father interrupted before Benjen could finish. "Yes, do that, and have the king throw you in the dungeon. Or even take your head. Foolish boy," he hissed angrily. "Foolish, foolish boy. Who do you think you are, to name the king's wife as your queen of love and beauty?"

Benjen looked contrite, but he did not answer his father's question. He turned to Ned to escape his father's wrathful look. "Well, have you made up your mind yet, Ned?"

Ned was ready with his reply this time. "I would name Lyanna. People should only name their own family. Sisters, or wives. It makes things too ... complicated otherwise." Ned's words were greeted with an awkward silence. Rhaegar Targaryen had named another woman, a woman not his wife.

Catelyn tried to defuse the tension. "Well, some men are not blessed with sisters. Or wives."

Brandon laughed. "Some men are not as lucky as I am." He turned to Stannis. "What about you, Stannis? Who would you name?"

Lyanna knew her husband had seldom been on tourney lists. Stannis was looking at Brandon with a curious expression on his face. Lyanna was worried he was about to go on a rant about the frivolity of tourneys. She did not want her family making fun of him behind his back later. She could not bear the thought of Brandon and Benjen, and perhaps even her father, laughing at him, mocking his self-seriousness. She quickly took her husband's hand. "He'll name me, of course. His wife. Won't you, Stannis?"

Stannis was still staring at Brandon, ignoring her question. Lyanna pressed her fingers harder on his palm. He did not flinch, but his gaze finally found her. "Yes," he replied, with just the one word.

"Lord Baratheon," a voice interrupted.

"Lord Commander," Stannis returned the greeting. Ser Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was standing in front of their tent.

"Lord Stark," Ser Gerold nodded to Lyanna's father.

"Ser Gerold, how may we be of service?" Her father's voice sounded irritated. Lyanna wondered if her father had resented the Lord Commander greeting Stannis first.

"His Grace the king has invited Lord Stannis Baratheon and his wife Lady Lyanna to attend the feast at the royal pavilion."

_No_, Lyanna was screaming inside. _I have been presented to the king. What does he want now? _

Rhaegar would be on that table. And Princess Elia.

"Such an great honor, for my daughter and her husband. Tell me, Ser Gerold, who else has the king bestowed this honor to tonight?"

"Only Prince Oberyn, Lord Stark. His Grace said he only wants family at the royal table tonight," Ser Gerold replied. "And of course Prince Oberyn is family by marriage."

"And Lord Baratheon is the son of His Grace's dear cousin," Lyanna's father nodded his head a few times. He turned to Stannis and Lyanna. "Well, you must not keep the king waiting."


	12. Chapter 12: Stannis VI

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had been wrong, Oberyn Martell was not the only other guest present at the royal table. Lord Varys the Master of Whisperers was also in attendance, speaking in a low tone to the king as Stannis and Lyanna arrived at the royal pavilion. Stannis sensed the Lord Commander stiffening beside him when he noticed Varys.

"Lord Stannis Baratheon and his lady wife Lady Lyanna of House Stark, Your Grace," Ser Gerold Hightower announced.

The king waved off the Lord Commander with a dismissive flick of his hand, his attention solely focused on his Master of Whisperers and whatever it was the man was whispering in his ears. Stannis and Lyanna remained standing, waiting for the king to acknowledge their presence.

"Father," Rhaegar Targaryen opened his mouth. "Cousin Stannis is here."

Lyanna was startled, it did not escape Stannis' notice. Startled to hear Rhaegar's voice again? Or startled that Rhaegar had called him 'Cousin'? Perhaps both, Stannis thought.

"Yes, yes, I know," the king replied to his son in a querulous tone. "I still have eyes. And ears. I am not deaf or blind yet, even if that's the way you prefer me to be."

The king's greeting to Stannis, however, was warmer, to Stannis' great surprise. He stood up from his seat and clasped Stannis on both shoulders. "Here, come sit next to me," the king said, pointing to the empty seat on his right. The queen's seat. Stannis hesitated. "Your Grace -"

Varys interrupted. "It is _so_ sad that Her Grace the queen cannot be with us for the feast tonight. Alas, the day's festivities has _quite_ worn her out."

It was the first time Stannis had heard the Spider's voice from close quarters, and he despised and distrusted it from that first listen. The young Prince Viserys was also not at the table. His seat, now empty, had been between Varys and Oberyn Martell.

"Well, sit! What are you waiting for?" The king's tone suddenly turned cross and impatient, as quick as lightning. Stannis glanced at his wife, and the king noticed. "Your wife can sit next to Varys. He will look after her. He is very entertaining, she will not be bored. She will not be bored at all, I can assure you," the king said, laughing a thin, reedy laugh.

For some reason, that felt more like a threat than a reassurance to Stannis. Lyanna gave his hand a quick squeeze, nodded, and started walking to take her seat. Stannis did the same.

He was acutely conscious of Rhaegar Targaryen sitting on the other side of him. Princess Elia was sitting next to her husband, her attention completely focused on the food on her plate. The prince smiled gravely, and was about to say something to Stannis when the king snapped. "I want Stannis sitting next to me so that I can speak with him, not so you can monopolize him like you try to monopolize everything and everyone else."

Rhaegar's expression was unchanged, but his voice betrayed some of the turmoil inside. "Father, I was only about to express my condolences to Cousin Stannis for his brother's death."

"His brother has been dead for months. His brother, who is also your cousin. Your Cousin Robert. You obviously care so much you waited this long to express your condolences," the king smirked.

What was causing this undercurrent of hostility between the king and his son? His heir. It troubled Stannis deeply, and yet he did not know why. It was none of his concern.

"You are right, Father. It was very amiss of me," the prince replied, his tone gentle and conciliatory. That, however, only seemed to increase the king's wrath.

"Do not try to humor me! I am not an addled-brain creature you need to appease with soft words to shut me up, all the while you're laughing at me behind my back."

"No one is laughing at you, Father," Princess Elia spoke for the first time.

"Your husband and his friends are," the king scoffed. "His friends all the high and mighty lords, and his friends in the Kingsguard. Perhaps I should rename it the Princesguard. They would die for their _precious_, _precious_ prince before they would die for me." He stared at Princess Elia and grinned, a deeply satisfied grin, as if he was reveling in some dark secret only he knew. "He's laughing at you too, you know. Your husband. Mark my word. We're both laughingstocks to him and his friends."

"Your Grace, perhaps you would like to tell Lord Stannis about the painting you found of his father Lord Steffon as a babe?" Varys suddenly interrupted. He had been observing and listening to the king's tirade, his face betraying nothing. Stannis wondered why Varys had chosen that particular moment to intervene.

"Ah, yes. It is of Cousin Steffon soon after his birth," the king said to Stannis. He was smiling now, his wrath seemingly already forgotten.

"Was my father brought to King's Landing soon after his birth?" Stannis asked. "I did not know that." His father had been born at Storm's End, Stannis knew, Maester Cressen, then a young maester fresh from the Citadel the one delivering him. But perhaps he had been taken as a babe to King's Landing, to be presented to his grandfather the late King Aegon.

The king shook his head. "No, no. Grandfather sent someone from court to Storm's End to paint him and aunt Rhaelle soon after the birth. He had the Baratheon look, of course, your father, not Targaryen, with that black hair of his. It was so thick and black, you could not miss it, even in a painting."

The ferocity of his desire to see this painting was disquieting to Stannis. This painting of his father and his grandmother. The grandmother he had never met. The father who had been dead for years. He could not recall the last time he had wanted something this intensely. But the king did not offer to show him the painting, and it was not his place to ask.

The king was huddled close to Varys again, the two of them speaking in low voices, ignoring everyone else. Stannis took advantage of the lull in the conversation to sneak a glance at his wife. She was deep in conversation with Oberyn Martell, a pleasant and enjoyable conversation, it would seem so, from both their expressions. What could they possibly be talking about? Stannis wondered. He struggled to think of a subject that would interest them both.

Horse-riding turned out to be the answer. They were talking about the first horse they had learned to ride. It struck Stannis suddenly that he had never asked Lyanna about her first horse. Or who had taught her to ride. Or if she had missed riding in the woods around Winterfell.

_I will ask her all that, and more_, he resolved.

Oberyn Martell mystified Stannis. Was it possible that Princess Elia's brother was ignorant of Lyanna's identity as the woman Rhaegar Targaryen had crowned as queen and love and beauty, bypassing his own wife? That seemed highly unlikely to Stannis, and yet Oberyn Martell's courtesy towards Lyanna seemed to indicate that. No, not just courtesy, he was obviously taking a great delight in her company, listening to her words with rapt attention, smiling, laughing and being completely charming.

It was only after Stannis realized that his eyes were not the only pair of eyes watching Oberyn and Lyanna that he finally understood what Oberyn Martell was doing. Rhaegar Targaryen was watching them too, watching them with his sad, mournful eyes, looking downcast.

_How dare you make use of her_, he wanted to shake both of them and shout. Rhaegar and Oberyn both. _Leave her out of whatever games you are playing, whatever grudges you hold towards each other._ But causing a scene would only humiliate Lyanna further, Stannis knew, so he held his tongue. For now.

And who was Rhaegar to look sad and mournful? Another thought struck Stannis. _He_ was Lyanna's husband, not Rhaegar. _He_ was the father of the child she was carrying.

_He is the man she had once loved, _Stannis' own voice replied in his head, mocking, and full of scorn. _Do not pretend to forget._

_He is also another woman's husband, still yearning for another man's wife_, Stannis countered. _Where is his respect for the vows we all took? _Stannis turned away from watching Lyanna and Oberyn, and stared at the crown prince. Who could not meet Stannis' gaze and looked away, turning to his own wife, suddenly asking her a question about the tourney earlier that day. Princess Elia replied without much interest, possibly knowing that the question was only her husband's way of finding a distraction.

_She is no fool, cousin. Your wife._

"Why, Oberyn, you have been monopolizing Lyanna the whole night. Stannis might have cause to be jealous," the king suddenly spoke, startling Stannis. "Or someone else might be," the king continued, his tone more malicious than playful this time.

Oberyn Martell laughed. "Forgive me, Lord Stannis, I was enjoying my conversation with your delightful wife very much." He paused, the laughter gone not only from his voice, but also from his eyes as he continued. "But Your Grace, who else besides Lady Lyanna's husband would be jealous?"

"Don't ask questions you already know the answers to," was the king's cryptic reply. A long silence greeted the king's remark.

"When will you depart for Storm's End, Lord Stannis?" Princess Elia finally broke the silence.

"After dawn tomorrow, Your Grace," Stannis replied.

"I hope you and Lady Lyanna have enjoyed your time in King's Landing," she continued.

Varys interrupted, saving Stannis from having to reply to the question. He most certainly had not enjoyed his time in King's Landing.

"I am sure we will see more of Lord Stannis in court, now that he is the Lord of Storm's End. And perhaps … Lady Lyanna too?" Varys asked, in a delicate tone.

"My place is at Storm's End if my husband is away, Lord Varys," Lyanna replied. Stannis marveled at her composure.

"Of course, of course," Varys replied, his tone obsequious.

The king stood up suddenly. "Well, go on with the feast. I'm going to show Stannis that painting of his father."

"Perhaps Lady Lyanna would like to see it too, Father?" Princess Elia said in a gentle voice.

"Nonsense!" The king snapped. "Why would she want to see a painting of a man she has never met?" He waved impatiently in Stannis' direction. "Come on, come on, I don't have all night."

Stannis stood up and followed the king, turning back at the last moment to glance at his wife. Her composure seemed to be deserting her, she had a haunted look on her face. But she smiled when she noticed him looking at her, and nodded slightly.


	13. Chapter 13: Lyanna VII

It was as if her nightmare was coming to life, Lyanna thought, as she watched her husband walking three steps behind the king. _Don't be silly_, she chastised herself, _they are only going to see a painting._ And yet she could not shake the feeling that something more was going on, that the king had something else in mind for her husband.

The tension at the table had not escaped her notice. At first she had assumed that the unholy mess that had been herself, Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia was the cause, but as the feast went on, she detected an undercurrent of something else too. Rhaegar's words to her about his father, whispered to her once upon a time, wandered through her mind, even as she struggled to banish any thought of him at all.

"He thinks I want his throne right now, that I wish to set him aside, that I am plotting with various lords to set him aside and steal his throne," Rhaegar had told Lyanna, in a moment of absolute despair. He had shared his fears and his vulnerabilities with her, in a way that Stannis never had.

_And perhaps never will. He is who he is_, she told herself. _My husband_. And her worries about what the king had in mind for Stannis at the moment was deeper than her worries about what Stannis might not be willing to share with her.

She had been conversing with Oberyn Martell, but still half-listening to the king's harsh words. Lyanna had been surprised at Oberyn's attention to her, but the shameful truth was, part of her was relieved that Oberyn's anger did not seem to extend to her, had seemed to be directed merely at Rhaegar. It was a while before she began to wonder why that was the case. Did Oberyn Martell not know that she was the woman Rhaegar had crowned as queen of love and beauty over his own wife? Over Oberyn's sister? She had enjoyed their conversation; Oberyn Martell turned out to be very knowledgeable about horses. And he had traveled far and wide, not just all over the Seven Kingdoms, but in the Free Cities as well.

Lyanna had noticed both Stannis and Rhaegar watching her talking to Oberyn Martell, Stannis' expression merely curious, but Rhaegar's sad. _Don't look at me_, Lyanna wanted to tell him. _And why are you looking so sad, when my husband is not? _

"I didn't know the king is so close to Lord Stannis," Oberyn Martell's voice broke Lyanna's reverie.

"My husband's late father was His Grace's cousin," Lyanna replied.

"Did Lord Stannis grow up in King's Landing then, after his parents' death? Was he and Prince Rhaegar playmates? Were they close?" The insistent barrage of questions from Oberyn Martell was making Lyanna uncomfortable.

"No, he stayed at Storm's End with his younger brother Renly. His older brother Robert was fostered with Lord Arryn at the Eyrie."

"Oh, I thought Lord Stannis and Prince Rhaegar had a close relationship." There was something strange about the way Oberyn had said those words. Lyanna did not know how to respond. She was saved from having to do so by Lord Varys.

"It is very good of you to crown your good sister as queen of love and beauty, Prince Oberyn," Varys spoke for the first time since the king left the feast.

"No one deserves the honor more," Oberyn replied.

"Lady Lyanna was crowned queen of love and beauty at the tourney in Harrenhal, did you know that?" Varys asked, the question obviously directed to the only person at the table not present at Harrenhal.

"Yes, I did know," Oberyn replied evenly. "But not by her own brother."

"I'm sure Prince Rhaegar was only honoring his dear cousin, Lord Robert Baratheon. Since Lord Robert did not win and could not crown his own betrothed," Varys said, smiling broadly.

Oberyn Martell laughed, a harsh, bitter laugh that shocked Lyanna.

"What do you find so funny, dear brother?" Princess Elia asked.

"Nothing. I was just thinking of the spider and the viper," Oberyn replied.

"Which would win in a fight, do you mean?" His sister queried again.

"No, whether they can become allies."

"But can you trust the spider? That's the real question," Rhaegar suddenly spoke.

"Well, the enemy of your enemy is your friend, I have heard it said," Oberyn replied, his eyes staring daggers at Rhaegar. He looked like he was about to say more, but Princess Elia interrupted. "I'm sure our conversation has grown very tedious for Lady Lyanna."

Lyanna shook her head. "No, not at all. You were magnificent during the joust, Prince Oberyn, especially during the match with Ser Jaime."

"Ahh, that boy. The boy Kingsguard, I have heard him called. He defeated your own brother, did he not?"

"Yes, Benjen lost to him in the first round," Lyanna replied.

"A callow boy. A fair enough fighter, but very impatient. Jaime Lannister, that is, not your brother, of course, Lady Lyanna. Not a match for me at all."

"It does not do to brag, Oberyn," Princess Elia gently chastised her brother.

"I am only telling the truth as I see it. Now Jon Connington, he is more of an equal match for me. And he was very determined to win. I wonder who he was planning to crown as his queen of love and beauty." Oberyn looked amused at the thought. "Do you know?" He directed the question to his brother-in-law.

"No doubt there is a woman Jon wishes to honor," Rhaegar replied.

Varys insinuated himself in the conversation. "You and Lord Connington are such _close_ friends, my prince. You must have some inkling as to the identity of this … _woman_."

Varys calling him 'my prince' must have annoyed Rhaegar. He replied in a stiff tone, "No, I do not."

They were silent after that. It was an awkward silence, but Lyanna welcomed it nonetheless. The silence was finally broken when Stannis arrived back at the table. Lyanna could not hide her relief at the sight of her husband.

Her husband, however, was looking troubled. Very, very troubled.

"His Grace the king wishes to see you in his bedchamber, Lord Varys," Stannis spoke.

Varys took his leave, smiling as he walked away. "I have been summoned."

"Whose words do you think your father pays more attention to? Yours, or Varys?" Oberyn was asking Rhaegar, staring at him intently. Rhaegar returned his gaze, but did not reply to the question.

"I wonder if I could speak to you alone, Prince Rhaegar?" It was Stannis' voice again speaking. Lyanna's heart skipped a beat. She panicked, all manners of conflicting thoughts and emotions running through her. But she did not dare look at her husband at that moment. Or at Rhaegar.

"Now what is so secretive that you cannot say it here, Lord Stannis? In front of your own wife, and the prince's own wife?" Oberyn Martell asked.

"Oberyn." It was a warning, from Princess Elia to her brother.

"Let's take a walk," Rhaegar said to Stannis. The table was silent again after Rhaegar and Stannis left, the three of them concentrating on their food.

"My sister has grown weary of my company tonight," Oberyn finally broke the silence.

"Only because you seem determined to pick a fight with everyone tonight," Princess Elia replied.

"You wound me, dear sister. My intentions are entirely noble and not self-serving, I assure you."

"I do not need you to fight my battles, Oberyn," Elia said softly. "And you are not the one who will have to make a life here, after this. You will leave and go back to Dorne. Or to your travel. I will still be here, with my children."

"Understood. Well, I will leave you and Lady Lyanna to converse. I'm going to seek out Lord Connington to congratulate him on a hard-fought match."

"Be gentle. He is Rhaegar's dearest friend."

"I am always gentle, dearest Elia," Oberyn replied, with a mock wounded look on his face. His sister kissed him gently on his brow as he was leaving the table.

"Perhaps you would like to move closer, Lady Lyanna, so it is easier for us to talk?" Princess Elia said.

Lyanna moved to the seat occupied by Rhaegar previously, next to Princess Elia. She opened her mouth to ask a question. "Is the queen -"

Princess Elia spoke at the same time. "My brother -"

They both fell silent. "You first, Lady Lyanna." Lyanna hesitated. "I insist," Elia said.

"I was wondering if the queen is unwell."

"No, the day has tired her out, that is all. It was a long match between my brother and Lord Connington. I was going to apologize for my brother's behavior. Oberyn is very dear to me, but he can be very impetuous."

Why should she apologize to Lyanna? Her brother had not said anything against Lyanna. But she could not ask the princess that. "There is nothing to apologize for, Your Grace. I had a delightful time conversing with Prince Oberyn. He is very knowledgeable about horses, and a great many things besides. And ... very charming."

"Yes, he has that effect on many women," Elia said dryly. Lyanna wondered suddenly if they were still talking about Oberyn Martell.

"Is it strange?" Elia asked suddenly.

"What is, Your Grace?" The two of them talking, but not really saying what was in both their minds? Ignoring the elephant in the room?

"Being married to Lord Stannis, when you were betrothed to his late brother?"

Lyanna did not reply immediately, and the princess apologized. "Forgive me, I should not intrude on something so … personal."

"No, please, it's fine. I was just thinking about the question. It _is_ strange, I suppose. But then again, I did not know Robert all that well before the betrothal either. Stannis and I, we are still getting to know each other."

Elia nodded. "That is the way for most marriages, I'm afraid. Understanding comes later. Perhaps even love, if you're lucky."

"I heard that … that …" Lyanna hesitated.

"Go on," Elia was encouraging her.

"I heard that the Prince of Dorne married for love."

"Yes, my brother Doran did marry for love. Not for politics, or alliance, or family. But it has not been a happy marriage. These things are hard to predict. Love is not always enough."

"Yes, I know," Lyanna replied softly.

"Then that is how we shall leave it. Nothing more needs to be said on the matter," Elia said firmly.


	14. Chapter 14: Stannis VII

The king's stride turned out to be faster than Stannis had expected. Two members of the Kingsguard walked discreetly behind them – Lord Tywin's son, and the Lord Commander himself. Stannis was surprised to realize that they were making their way to the throne room. Surely the painting of his father could not be there?

"Leave us," the king dismissed the two Kingsguards.

"Your Grace," Ser Gerold protested.

"Why, are you planning to spy on me, Ser Gerold? To report my conversation with Stannis to my son?" The king turned his attention to Jaime Lannister, his index finger poking the boy's armored chest. "And you, boy, what about you? Spying for your father, perhaps?"

Jaime Lannister met the king's gaze with an expressionless face, but he eventually faltered as the king continued to stare at him maliciously. His gaze went to his feet instead. The king laughed. Ser Gerold barely reacted to the wild accusations, as if he was quite used to them. "We are here to protect you, Your Grace," he replied.

"I don't need protection from the son of my own cousin! Must I repeat myself? Do I need to remind you that I am still your king? Leave, I say!"

"At once, Your Grace," Ser Gerold finally said. He and Jaime Lannister made their way out of the throne room, as Stannis shifted his weight from one foot to another, uncertain as to what was expected of him. The king was standing at the foot of the throne, his eyes fixed on the iron throne itself, with it's sharp, jagged edges and treacherous surfaces.

"It is a most uncomfortable chair to sit on, I can tell you that," the king whispered, his voice so low Stannis had to strain his ears to hear him. "Oh, I know what they call me. King Scab, they say, for he cuts himself so often sitting on that chair. But they don't know what it's like, sitting there day after day after day, year after year after year, staring at all those indifferent faces, all wanting something, greedy and grasping and horrid. _Make me a lord, make me a richer lord, take my side in the dispute with that other lord, bring down my taxes._ And all the time they're staring at me, secretly whispering to each other – "_Tywin Lannister would be a better king. Prince Rhaegar would be a better king. King Scab should have died at Duskendale._" The king's voice had been growing louder and louder, he was shouting now. "Laughing at me. Mocking me. Their king! I am a Targaryen, I have the blood of the dragon in me. How dare these men mock me? These mere … mortals?"

The question did not seem to be directed to Stannis, more to the room itself. Or perhaps to the world at large. Stannis replied to it nonetheless.

"My father taught me that it is how we judge our own self that truly matters, not the judgment of others," Stannis said.

The king seemed startled, as if he had forgotten that Stannis was in the room with him. He smiled. "Cousin Steffon was a wise man. A good man." The smile curdled into a grimace. "But he never sat on that throne, he never knew or understood how treacherous it is." His grimace turned into a smile again, a wide grin this time that made Stannis more uncomfortable than the grimace. "Would you like to sit on it? To see what it is like? So you can understand what I am telling you."

"On the iron throne? No, Your Grace, I understand what you are telling me perfectly well. I do not need to sit on the throne."

The king was insistent. "You cannot truly _see_ it, or _know_ it, until you're sitting there yourself."

Stannis shook his head. "Your Grace -"

The king was furious, as furious as he had been when Ser Gerold had protested about leaving. "Are you going to defy me too?" He shouted.

Stannis took a step towards the throne. "Go on," the king said, walking beside Stannis, his hand on Stannis' shoulder. They walked up the steps together, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the almost empty room. Lyanna's dream, the one she had shared with him, intruded on Stannis' thoughts. He did not know why; he was not following the king into the path of a storm.

It was Tywin Lannister and not King Aerys he and Robert had actually seen sitting on that throne, the first time Father had brought them to court, when Stannis was only four. Stannis and Robert had not known that until much later. He wondered how many boys, and perhaps even men, had made the same mistake he and Robert had made. Lord Tywin had indeed looked very kingly and regal. _The man who truly rules the realm. _The king's diatribes, paranoid and wild as they were, perhaps had their seeds in something real.

_But Lord Tywin is no longer Hand of the King. And His Grace's suspicion of his own son and heir does not seem warranted_, Stannis thought.

"Sit," came the brusque command from the king.

It was a chair deliberately made to be uncomfortable, history claimed. At least, history as recounted by the maesters and the archmaesters from the Citadel. In truth, it did not feel all that different from sitting on other chairs to Stannis. He was sitting with the same rigid posture he would usually have sitting on other chairs in other rooms.

"Well?" The king's gleeful tone shocked Stannis.

Stannis let his gaze roamed through the entirety of the throne room, imagining the room filled with lords and knights and common folks, all with their claims and their concerns. And it was the king's duty to listen, to judge, to decide, for the people of the whole kingdom, as it was his duty now as the Lord of Storm's End to do the same for the people of the stormlands.

But the act of imagining was not the same as truly seeing, or truly knowing. He did not know what to say to the king. He only knew he wanted to be out of that chair and out of that room, as soon as possible.

"It must be very lonely, sitting up here." He did not know where those words had come from. They were out of his mouth before he could consider them.

The king stared at Stannis for a long while. His expression softened towards something resembling the man Stannis had once known as a boy. "So you _do_ understand. I knew you would." The boiling fury was suddenly back on his face and in his voice, as he continued. "My son doesn't. Rhaegar does not understand at all. And Viserys is too young. Too young and too powerless to defend me from his older brother."

To defend the king from Rhaegar? This was a spider-induced paranoia, Stannis was certain of it. As much as he disliked the Crown Prince, he distrusted the Master of Whisperers even more.

Stannis went for the direct route. "What is it that Lord Varys claims Prince Rhaegar is plotting, Your Grace?"

The king scoffed. "Claim! It is not a mere claim. He has proof. Meetings. Secret meetings. Talks of calling a council. To make Rhaegar king."

"He is your rightful heir, Your Grace. He will be king after you, that is the law."

"He does not want to wait! Don't you understand? Oh he is beloved, my son. So very beloved. They cheer for him in the streets, tell endless stories about him and his harp and his _glorious_, _glorious_ voice. What a good king he will make, they say. The best king the Seven Kingdoms has ever seen." The anger and fury in the king's voice was hard to listen to. But the hardest thing, the thing that troubled Stannis the most, was the hurt in it. And the hatred. He had been driven to hate his own son, his own heir, perhaps with grave consequences for the realm.

_Damn that eunuch_, Stannis swore in his head.

The king was looking at him with a calculating expression. "You don't believe me, do you? I am disappointed in you, Stannis. I never took you for the type to fall for my son's charm."

"It is not about charm, Your Grace."

"We are not that different, you and I. Always in the shadow. Always merely second-best. Second-rate. Never good enough in the eyes of others. Not as good as your brother Robert. Not as good as my grandfather, then my father, then my own Hand. And now my son."

"Prince Rhaegar would never -"

The king interrupted swiftly. "How do you know what he would never do? He was going to steal your brother's intended bride, did you know that? Yes, _your_ Lyanna, your wife now."

She is not _my _Lyanna, Stannis wanted to say. _And I know that already, about the prince._

"Lord Varys seems to spend most of his time spying on the Crown Prince, rather than spying on the enemies of the realm," Stannis said instead.

"The enemy of the king is the enemy of the realm."

Stannis did not have a reply to that. He stayed silent, waiting for the king to speak.

"Look to that wall on your right. The painting beside the third dragon skull," the king finally spoke.

Stannis' father, as a red-faced, squalling babe, in the arms of Princess Rhaelle Targaryen. Steffon Baratheon's dark hair stood out in stark contrast to his mother's silvery-gold mane. Stannis stared and stared. He could not take his eyes off the painting.

"It is here … in the throne room. I did not think … I did not know it would be here."

"I commanded them to put it in the throne room, of course. For everyone to see. To honor your father," the king said softly. "He was loyal to me. To the very end. Sometimes I wish … that he is still here."

_I wish that every day_, Stannis thought. _Every day that I am alive, and Father and Mother are not._

The king grasped both of Stannis' hands. "Will you be as loyal to me as your father was, Stannis? Can I count on you as much as I counted on him? As much as I once depended on him?"

_He is my king. It is my duty to be loyal to him_, Stannis repeated the words to himself.

"Of course, Your Grace." He hesitated for a moment, before continuing. "But Lord Varys -"

"He is valuable in his own way. I need him too." The king was looking distracted. "I have to ask him something. Something important. Very, very important. Go tell him I want to see him in my bedchamber."

"Yes, Your Grace." Stannis took his leave from the throne room. He glanced back at the door, watching the king running his fingers through the iron throne, muttering to himself.

_I will have to speak to the Crown Prince_. The thought repulsed Stannis. But he knew it was something he had to do. For the king. For the realm.

He glanced at the painting of his father for the last time. _Father, is this what you would have done?_

He waited. And waited. There was no answer, but he was not expecting one.

_What am I waiting for, then?_

The king noticed him standing by the door. "What are you still doing here? I need to see Varys now."

Stannis rushed out of the room.

Lyanna's look of relief when she saw him arriving back at the feast was not lost on Stannis. He cursed himself for not thinking about what it must have been like for her, to be left at that table. With that company.

_I have to leave you alone again, Lyanna. Forgive me._

He ignored Varys' self-satisfied smile when he was told about the king's summon, and Oberyn Martell's jibe about secrets. Stannis and Rhaegar did not speak until they were well away from the feast.

"What is it you want to speak to me about, Stannis?"

"Your Grace -"

The prince smiled. "Rhaegar, please. Or Cousin Rhaegar, if you are more comfortable with that."

"How much do you know about Lord Varys?" Stannis asked. "Your Grace."

Rhaegar sighed. He looked weary, his eyes drifting upward to stare at the night sky. It was a starless night, dark and foreboding. He returned his gaze to Stannis after a few minutes. "Not much. Only what he has deigned to tell us, of course, and who knows how much of that is even true. Why?"

"Perhaps it is not my place to speak of this, but Lord Varys seems to have gained a considerable amount of influence on the king," Stannis said stiffly. "Maybe more than he should."

Rhaegar nodded. "I know. I have tried to speak to my father about the matter, but it only seemed to raise his ire towards me. He is not very fond of me recently, I'm sure you have noticed that."

There was no other way to approach the subject, except to ask the question bluntly. "Are you plotting to depose your father from the throne, and install yourself as king before his death?"

The prince's reaction was not what Stannis had expected at all. He had expected anger, indignation, furious denials. Instead, Rhaegar stared at Stannis with his sad, haunting eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Stannis had to look away after a while.

"Is that what he told you?" The prince asked.

"Have you given him any cause to have this suspicion?" Stannis replied with his own question.

"Tell me, Stannis, what is your impression of my father? His … health. His mental state. You have not seen him in quite a long time, I know."

"I fail to see how my impression of the king matters," Stannis replied stiffly.

"It matters to me. In fact, it matters to me a great deal, Stannis," the prince said, his eyes boring through Stannis' own as if he was trying to read Stannis' mind. Stannis deeply resented the intrusion. The prince continued. "Depose. It is such an ugly word."

"The truth is often ugly, when laid bare for all to see. What word would you prefer instead? Something sweeter and prettier but full of lies and treacheries?" Stannis could not keep the disgust out of his voice.

Rhaegar did not seem to take offense, and that only raised Stannis' anger and disgust. "You have not answered my question," the prince said calmly.

Deep breath. He was not here to quarrel with the prince. "It was a shock to see His Grace the king," Stannis admitted. "How long …"

"... has he been like this? It started after Duskendale. He was never the same after that. Not surprising, after everything he suffered."

"And the mistrust, suspicion and paranoia? Were those more recent, after Lord Varys' arrival?"

Rhaegar pondered the question. "I would like to believe that is the case. But the truth is, that started before Varys. The spider made it worse, perhaps, with his whispers and rumors and supposed "news", but my father had stopped trusting anyone around him long before Varys ever stepped foot in King's Landing."

"You have not answered _my_ question,Your Grace. Are you plotting -"

"I love my father, you know," the prince interrupted.

"That was not my question," Stannis said firmly.

The prince was equally firm in his response. "I want you to know that. It is important to me that you know that."

_Why? Who am I to you? No one. Why should it matter? Why should it be important?_

"Are you always so certain about where your duty lies, Stannis?"

"Aren't you?"

"I used to be. And then gradually … gradually I come to realize that it is not always so simple. So … certain. So black and white. My duty to my father, to my king. My duty to the realm, to my people. What happens if the two are in opposition to one another? What should I do? How do I choose?"

"How could the two be in opposition?"

Rhaegar's haunting eyes were staring at him again, insistent, almost desperate. "You _know_ how. You are aware of it yourself, which is why you wanted to have this conversation with me. Even though … even though I am probably last man in the Seven Kingdoms you wish to speak to."

"You did not mention your duty to your wife and to your children. Have you forgotten that? Or is it never that important to you?"

"I deserve that," Rhaegar replied, smiling wryly.

"Yes, you do." Stannis was not smiling. "Your Grace."

"Will you still help me?"

"Help you?"

"To consider that question. About competing duties. I may need your counsel soon, I think."


	15. Chapter 15: Lyanna VIII

_Love is not always enough._

Princess Elia's words were haunting Lyanna's thoughts.

_With this kiss I pledge my love._

The vows she had spoken on her wedding day jostled for position as well in Lyanna's mind. At the time, she had uttered those words without much thought, eager for the ceremony to be over. Stannis had spoken the same words almost grudgingly, '_love_' coming out of his mouth as a harsh bark. He was not looking at her when he finally pulled her for the kiss, his eyes fixed on something else behind her.

_Or someone else?_

Lyanna's eyes strayed to her husband, sitting at the table writing a letter to Maester Cressen. Telling the maester to prepare Storm's End for visitors, she assumed. Lyanna's father had decided to visit Storm's End on their way back to Winterfell. "There is something I need to discuss with you, Stannis. And King's Landing is not the right place for it. Ravens are not to be trusted either, not for this matter," her father had said.

"Who were you looking at, when you were kissing me on our wedding day?" Lyanna blurted out the question suddenly.

Stannis turned around to face her. "Was I looking at anyone? I don't remember."

"You were looking at something behind me. Or someone."

"How could you tell? Your eyes were closed."

Had her eyes really been closed? She did not remember that. Before she could protest, her husband spoke again. "Do you know what your father wants to discuss with me? He's being very mysterious about it."

"No. I asked him, but he said it is between you and him, that I should not worry myself. That it is not my concern." Lyanna could not keep the bitterness out of her voice, the memory of that conversation with her father still rankled. _I am no longer a child_, she wanted to say to her father. _I am a married woman now, about to be a mother. And Stannis is my husband, it _is_ my concern._ But the habit of a lifetime stayed her tongue in her father's presence. She wondered if she would ever grow out of that.

Her husband was clearing his throat, looking nervous. "What is it?" She asked gently.

"It wasn't too bad, was it? The feast. You did not have such a bad time?"

"No," she lied, but then thought better of it. "I don't know. It was …"

She struggled to find the right word to describe the experience.

"Strange," Stannis found the word for her. Lyanna nodded. "Yes, it was very strange. Almost … surreal, in fact."

"Did … did Princess Elia ask her brother to leave the two of you alone?"

Lyanna shook her head. "No, Prince Oberyn wanted to find Lord Connington to congratulate him on a hard-fought match."

Stannis and Rhaegar had both looked surprised when they came back to the table to find Lyanna sitting beside Princess Elia, the two of them the only ones left at the table. "Don't look so worried, Lord Stannis. I have not been mistreating your wife," Princess Elia had said with a smile, her tone almost jesting. But Lyanna noticed that the princess was not really looking at Stannis when she said those words, she was looking at Rhaegar. Her eyes, in stark contrast to her tone of voice and the smile grazing her lips, were grave and solemn.

"We've been having a pleasant conversation, haven't we, Lady Lyanna?"

"Yes, my princess," Lyanna had replied.

The looks passing between Rhaegar and Elia haunted her too. She could not decipher them. She resolved not to spend another moment thinking about it.

_Now that truly _is _not my concern. Not anymore._

Something else struck her suddenly. "Did you speak to Lord Connington?" Lyanna asked her husband.

"No. Why?"

"He is your bannerman. You should congratulate him."

"He didn't win," Stannis said blithely.

"Yes, but he fought so hard," Lyanna replied.

"He doesn't need praises or well-wishes from me."

"What's wrong with giving it anyway? Perhaps we could invite him to dinner, once we're back at Storm's End. Father always gives a feast to celebrate when one of his bannermen wins a tourney. It's probably not suitable to hold a feast since Lord Connington lost the final match, and a celebratory feast might only remind him of that. But we could invite him to dinner instead."

Stannis' attention was back to the letter he was writing. "I don't think that's necessary," he shrugged.

Lyanna lost her patience. "I'm trying my best to do my duty as the lady of Storm's End, and you're not really helping!"

Her husband stared at her with a shocked expression on his face. "I -"

"Is it because Jon Connington is a close friend of Prince Rhaegar? Is that why you refuse to do it? Refuse to even show him some common courtesy?

Stannis looked appalled. "Of course not. That never even crossed my mind."

"Then why? What's wrong with showing courtesy to one of your own bannermen? Is that not part of your duty as lord of Storm's End?"

"There is too much falseness in the world already. False courtesies, false praises, false everything. I loathe it."

She knew _that_ look of stubborn and unyielding determination on her husband's face. "It does not have to be false," Lyanna said gently.

_It will take me the rest of our lives together to make him see that, probably._

Her husband did not reply. He changed the subject instead. "What is your impression of the king?"

Lyanna hesitated. "He is your father's cousin. I'm not sure -"

"Be honest. I want to know what you really think."

"He terrified me. His demeanor, the things he was saying. After all, we and Prince Oberyn were merely guests at that table, and for him to speak the way he did about his own family with us there was very strange. And it was as if he _wanted_ things to be tense and uncomfortable, as if he wanted us to … to quarrel."

Stannis nodded. "He wanted to make things as uncomfortable as possible for Prince Rhaegar. His Grace seems to have become very suspicious of his own son. The work of that eunuch, no doubt," he scoffed.

Lyanna spoke before she thought better of it. "This is what he feared before, that his father would no longer trust him."

Silence. Absolute silence greeted her words. It was as if the world had been stripped bare of all its occupants.

It was a while before Stannis finally spoke. "Rhaegar? Did he tell you that? I didn't know you and the prince had a chance to speak alone tonight." His eyes were fixed again on the letter he was writing, his tone unconcerned, as if it did not matter, but Lyanna was not fooled. She stood up from the bed, walked towards him, and put her hand on his shoulder. He did not flinch from the touch, as she was half-expecting.

"No, I did not speak with him tonight, alone or in front of the others," Lyanna said firmly.

Stannis was not looking at her. "Why not? If there is truly nothing there anymore, surely you could speak with him normally, like talking to any other man. The way you spoke to Oberyn Martell tonight."

"Are you doubting me?" Lyanna asked.

"No, I'm doubting what it is you do not want to admit even to yourself," Stannis replied.

She took her hand off her husband's shoulder. "So what? What if I do admit it? Whatever it is that you think I should admit to myself. Will that change anything? No, it will not. It cannot. Except to make us both more unhappy."

He was looking at her now, staring at her incensed and indignant face. "We must always admit the truth, and face it as best as we can, even if it cannot change anything."

"You don't know the truth, _my_ truth," she scoffed. "You think you do, but you don't."

"Do you know it yourself?" He asked, his tone gentler, and sadder, than she had ever heard from her husband.

"I know the vows we said, when we were married. '_Now and forever_'," Lyanna replied.

"We also said '_one flesh, one heart, one soul_', and we both know that is not possible."

"It is not possible because you're not really trying. I can't do it alone, on my own," she snapped back, her patience running low for the men in her life. Her father, her husband.

Her husband, who was changing the subject yet again. "So when did the prince tell you that? About his father?" He was asking Lyanna.

"At Harrenhal," Lyanna replied.

"He was telling a stranger about that, he was being unwise. No wonder Varys could sow doubts and suspicions about him to the king so easily."

"I don't think he was saying that to anybody who was listening. I was not exactly a … a -"

"- a stranger. That might be so. But if he really needed someone to share his troubles with, he should have told his wife."

"Yes, I see that now. At the time I was … touched, I suppose. You want me to admit the truth? Fine, I will admit this, to you, to myself. He was telling me things I thought he had never told anyone before. Unburdening himself to me, sharing his deepest fears and worries with me. I only knew him for the briefest of moment, but it felt like I have known him all my life."

_And I loved him for that. _She did not say this to her husband; it would have been cruelty rather than honesty to tell him that, Lyanna thought.

_And now it feels like I knew him so much better than I know you. Than I will ever know you. Than you will ever let me know you. _She did not say this either, for reasons that she did not understand herself.

"He should have unburdened himself to the woman he vowed to spend his life with. Not some other woman," Stannis replied, his face a carefully maintained blank.

"There is no other woman in your life, and yet you do not unburden yourself to your wife either."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Lyanna was insistent.

"No, I don't," Stannis replied, looking mystified.

"Really? You looked very troubled after you followed the king, and even more troubled after your conversation with Rhaegar. And yet you have said nothing to me, about what was troubling you. To your own wife."

"You did not ask."

"I need you to _want_ to tell me. To want to share your troubles with me. I don't want you telling me only because I insisted, and it is not in you to lie."

"It's not so … simple."

"Why not?" She was waiting for his answer. _I don't want to worry you. It is not your concern._ She thought she would scream out loud if her husband said that too, as her father had often done.

"I don't really know and understand the situation myself. Not yet. If I tell you, it is only my own impressions and speculations so far. It wouldn't be fair to those people, since you cannot ask them yourself and ascertain the situation for yourself."

"Tell me anyway. Maybe the two of us together, we can understand things better."

Stannis looked like he was considering it, his face frowning with concentration. Lyanna waited. This felt like the moment that would determine the rest of her marriage.

_I have told you things I never told anyone. I have bared my heart to you, all my flaws and failings and weaknesses, I have told you all of that. How are we to survive if you will not reciprocate?_

_Maybe he can't_, a voice whispered in Lyanna's head. _Maybe it is not in him to unburden himself to anyone, even his wife._

_Then we are lost_, she despaired.

Her husband took her hand, and they walked to the bed together. They sat at the edge of the bed, their feet almost touching, her husband's hand still grasping Lyanna's own. "I think there is a storm coming," he began.


	16. Chapter 16: Stannis VIII

**A/N: ****I'm not really sure about the funeral rites in the Stormlands, but I went for burial based on this conversation between Jaime Lannister and Loras Tyrell in A Storm of Swords:**

**"What did you do with Renly?" "I buried him with mine own hands, in a place he showed me once when I was a squire at Storm's End. No one shall ever find him there to disturb his rest."**

**Thank you for reading! Hope you are still enjoying the story :D**

* * *

The sight of the castle was a great relief to Stannis. Storm's End, at last. Home, at last. Far, far away from all the plotting, scheming and falseness of King's Landing.

_Or perhaps not far enough_, Stannis thought, as he watched his father-in-law thoughtfully. Rickard Stark had asked Stannis a great many questions about the king and Prince Rhaegar during their journey, questions that did not seem merely designed for polite conversation.

"Lya! Lya! Stannis! You're back. You came back!"

Renly's shouting and yelling irritated Stannis. Maester Cressen should really watch the boy more carefully, he thought. And yet Renly's look of amazement and astonishment that his brother and his sister-in-law came back from their trip after all - unlike his mother and father, unlike Robert - caused a sliver of pain to Stannis.

It was to Lyanna that Renly ran, embracing her tightly as if he was afraid she would disappear if he ever let go. Lyanna kissed the top of his head, smiled, and asked. "Have you been a good little lord while Stannis is away?"

"Yes!" Renly replied excitedly. "I checked the household account and Maester Cressen let me sit at the table when he was meeting with the stormlords." He turned to Stannis. "Grandfather Estermont was here. He wants to speak to you once you're back, Stannis. He said it is very, very important," Renly said, his tone solemn and full of boyish self-importance.

Rickard Stark laughed. "My, what a conscientious boy," he said, giving Renly a smile.

"Renly, this is Lord Rickard Stark, Lyanna's father," Stannis made the introduction. "This is my younger brother, Lord Stark. I apologize for his unruly behavior. He has been indulged far too much by too many people," Stannis said, gazing meaningfully at Maester Cressen. And at his wife. The maester looked away, Lyanna did not. She raised her eyebrows instead.

Renly was suddenly looking very serious and courteous. "It is a great honor to meet you, Lord Stark," he bowed. He turned to Ned. "And you must be Ned Stark, Robert's good friend."

Benjen laughed, and then replied before Ned could. "How do you know I'm not Ned Stark?"

"You have laughing eyes. Robert said Ned has sad eyes." Renly was looking around uncertainly, suddenly a small boy again, vulnerable to the world. His gaze finally fixed itself on Ned again. "Am I right? Are you Ned?"

Ned knelt down, so that his face was level with Renly's. "Yes, I am Ned," he said softly. "Your brother Robert is … was ... a good friend of mine."

Renly nodded, satisfied. "Will you tell me stories about Robert when he was a boy? I always ask Stannis, but he would never tell me."

Ned nodded. "Yes, if you would like that."

Maester Cressen cleared his throat and spoke to Stannis. "My lord, our guests must be tired after the long journey. Their rooms have been prepared, perhaps they would like to retire and rest before dinner?"

"Yes, of course. Will you show them to their rooms, maester?" Stannis replied.

Cressen looked distracted, Stannis thought. He wondered what could be the matter.

"Patchface is ill again," Renly whispered to Stannis as they were walking inside. "Maester Cressen has been worried."

"What's wrong with him?" Stannis asked.

"A fever. It's not the contagious type, Maester Cressen said, but he won't let me see Patchface. Why can't I see him if his fever is not contagious?"

"I don't know. Ask Maester Cressen," Stannis replied, distracted himself, his thoughts wandering to the day the fool first came to Storm's End. He missed Renly's look of disappointment.

Lyanna tried to pacify the boy. "If Patchface is ill, then he needs to rest. You can see him when he's better."

"I don't want to play with him, or disturb him, I just want to visit him," Renly replied, pouting. "Will you ask the maester, Lya? If I can see Patchface?"

"Yes, I will ask him later," Lyanna replied. "But it's been a long journey, and we need to rest for a bit before dinner."

Renly was still holding on to Lyanna's hand, looking reluctant to let go. But he finally did. "You have to tell me all about the tourney later. Promise me? Promise me, Lya?"

"Of course," Lyanna smiled.

But it was mostly Benjen telling Renly about the tourney at dinner that night, with Lord Rickard chiming in here and there. Lyanna's father seemed very charmed by the little boy. Renly was excited, smiling, laughing and clapping his hands. Lyanna looked distracted, and worried. Perhaps it was a mistake telling her the things he did the night before they left King's Landing, Stannis thought. But he had wanted her opinion on the matter. He needed to know if he was worrying over nothing. But Lyanna's reaction had assured him that he was not. She thought it worrying too, the things the king and the crown prince had said to Stannis.

_So Lyanna's remark about Rhaegar unburdening himself to her, sharing his troubles with her, had absolutely no bearing on your decision to tell her?_ A stray voice whispered in his head.

_No. Absolutely not, _he silenced the voice, firmly. This was not the time for self-doubt.

Ned was silent too, Stannis noticed, his eyes straying and glancing at his surrounding, not really taking in the conversation.

_Do you see him too, Ned? I see him still, every day. Sitting at the head of the table, barking orders, drinking and laughing and clapping everyone's back, beloved and admired, the rightful lord of Storm's End._

"Robert said you have two brothers, Ned, just like him. Where is your other brother? Didn't he want to come to Storm's End?" Renly was asking Ned. "It's the strongest castle in the Seven Kingdoms," Renly declared proudly. "It has never been breached, not since the day King Durran built it."

Stannis chastised his brother. "You should not exaggerate and brag. Or ask questions about things that do not concern you."

And Stannis did not think it was right for Renly to call Ned Stark '_Ned_' either, as if they were old friends too.

It was Lord Rickard who replied. "Oh, don't be too hard on him, Stannis. He's only curious. Boys are always curious, that's their nature. And Storm's End _is_ a very strong castle. Almost as strong as Winterfell." He winked at Renly. Renly smiled, delighted.

Rickard Stark continued. "Well, Brandon is Ned's older brother. And my oldest son."

"And your heir," Renly chirped.

"Yes. We can't both be away from Winterfell for too long, so I told him to go home first. And his wife went with him."

"Because there must always be a Stark in Winterfell," Renly said.

"Clever boy. What a clever, clever boy," Lord Rickard said. He turned to look at his daughter. "I hope my grandson will be as clever as Renly."

"Or granddaughter," Lyanna replied. "It could be a girl I'm carrying."

* * *

Stannis spent the rest of the night consulting with Maester Cressen, the old maester reporting on what had been going on while Stannis was away. Most of it involving disputes between various lords, Stannis was not surprised to find out. King Aerys' words rang in his ears. "_Make me a lord, make me a richer lord, take my side in the dispute with that other lord, bring down my taxes."_

_Oh yes, I understand, Your Grace. I understand perfectly well how infuriating it can be at times. But it is our duty, we have no choice in the matter._

"My grandfather was here?" He asked Cressen, to drown out the king's voice in his head.

"Yes, my lord. Regarding his dispute with Lord Penrose, about the hunting ground."

Stannis frowned. "I have made my decision about that. We have ascertained that the woods in question falls within the border of Lord Penrose's land. A letter has been dispatched to Lord Estermont to inform him of that, if I recall."

"Yes, Lord Estermont has received that letter, my lord. He was here to appeal his case to you personally."

"To use his position as my mother's father to try to influence my decision, you mean," Stannis grumbled. "I am the lord of the Stormlands, my duty is to all the lords here, not just to House Estermont. I can guess what my grandfather will say, by the way. He will say that were Robert still alive, Robert would be more sympathetic to his claim."

"Lord Robert did not always take his side either. Not if Lord Estermont was truly in the wrong," Cressen replied.

"My grandfather does not hold me in the same regard as he held Robert. He told my mother once I was a strange boy. A very strange boy. He has never liked me, not when I was a boy, and certainly not now that I am a man."

"Perhaps," Cressen said softly, almost warily, "you do not have to make your dislike of him so clear too, my lord."

"I don't dislike him," Stannis said, surprised. "I dislike his expectation that he should be given special treatment because he is my grandfather. The law is the law, justice is justice, blood and familial relationship notwithstanding."

Maester Cressen was looking at him with a compassionate expression on his face. _Don't_, Stannis thought. _I don't want your pity. _"Anything else?" Stannis said sharply.

"I have arranged for a feast to be held three days from now. Most of your lords bannermen will be attending. Except Lord Connington. His castellan sent his apology, Lord Connington is still in King's Landing it seems, and his return date is not yet certain."

A deeper frown from Stannis. "I never commanded you to arrange a feast."

The maester smiled. "Well, naturally I assume you had forgotten to put that in your letter, my lord. Of course you would want to hold a feast to honor your father-in-law. It is his first time visiting Storm's End after all."

_You know me well enough by now to know that I do not forget things, old man._ But he let it go.

Ned Stark walked in at that moment. He looked apologetic when he saw Stannis. "Forgive me, I did not know you're with Master Cressen. I'll come back later."

"No, I was just leaving, you can have the maester all to yourself." Stannis wondered what it was Ned wanted to say to the maester that he could not say in front of Stannis.

"I wonder if Maester Cressen could show me where Robert is buried, tomorrow morning. Lyanna looked very tired tonight, I don't want to disturb her," Ned said, before Stannis had left the room.

Before Cressen could answer, Stannis replied first. "I can show you. Be at the stables at first light tomorrow."

Ned looked surprised at the offer, but nodded. "Of course. Thank you, Stannis."

Ned was already waiting at the stables when Stannis arrived there the next morning. They rode in silence, neither of them speaking or trying to make conversation. And yet it was not an awkward or uncomfortable silence, as Stannis had expected.

"This is it," Stannis said, when they reached the spot, overlooking Shipbreaker Bay. They both dismounted from their horses. Stannis had asked Lord Arryn that Robert's body be sent back from the Vale, to rest beside Steffon and Cassana Baratheon. Ned knelt down in front of their graves first, his mouth mumbling something silently. Praying to his tree gods? At Robert's grave, Ned touched the soil, smoothing it over at first, then clenching it tightly with his balled fist. Stannis looked away. He felt like he was intruding on something he should not be present for.

_I should have let Cressen show him the grave._

"If you or your father and brother would like to pray, there is a godswood close by," Stannis said after a while.

Ned looked up. "Did you have it built for Lyanna?"

Stannis shook his head. "No, Robert did, after the betrothal."

"He never told me," Ned said, his voice almost a whisper.

"He meant it as a surprise, I suppose," Stannis said with a shrug.

"Robert would have delighted in something like that," Ned said, smiling. "He would have loved seeing the shock and the joy on Lyanna's face when she found out." Ned looked remorseful suddenly. "I'm sure Lyanna was very happy when you showed it to her."

"It was Maester Cressen who did that," Stannis replied.

And as far as Stannis could tell, Lyanna had not spent a lot of time praying in the godswood. She seemed almost indifferent to it, in fact. _Well, that's something we have in common, at least. Indifference to the gods,_ Stannis thought.

He remembered what it was he had wanted to say to Ned Stark ever since King's Landing. "Don't think about the dead so much that you forget the living."

Ned looked uncertain, hesitant. "What do you mean?" He finally asked.

"Your brothers are still living. Your real brothers. Your sister as well." Too harsh? Stannis thought not.

Ned took it unflinchingly. "I understand. Thank you for the reminder. May I return the favor with a reminder of my own?"

"Go ahead."

"It does not do to compare yourself to the dead too much. We will always fall short, people only remember the good about the dead," Ned said gravely. Stannis tried to hide his look of astonishment, but failed completely.


	17. Chapter 17: Lyanna IX

_The trouble with someone unburdening himself to you is_, _his burden is now your burden too._

A truly shared concern, in a way that Lyanna had not really felt with Rhaegar. She had wanted to say all the right things to Rhaegar, to ease his burden, to make him feel better, but she had not felt like his troubles were her responsibility too, the way she did now with Stannis.

_Of course it is different. That is how it should be. Stannis is my husband, his life is my life too. Our life, together. Rhaegar was …_

What was Rhaegar, exactly? Definition eluded her at that moment.

Her concerns were not allayed listening to her father questioning Stannis closely about the king and Rhaegar during the journey from King's Landing to Storm's End. Lyanna wondered if this was the important matter that her father wanted to discuss with Stannis. Her husband answered each question tersely, without much in the way of elaboration. She could see that Stannis was wary of her father's questions, perhaps even suspicious. Lyanna's father did not seem to notice Stannis' reluctance, or at least he acted as if he did not notice it, the stream of questions continuing until they almost reached Storm's End.

Lyanna was relieved when she finally spied the drum tower of Storm's End from a distance, looking like a spiked fist thrusting towards the sky._Durran Godsgrief's way of showing defiance to the gods_, Robert had told her, when he regaled her with the tale of the building of the castle.

_Elenei shielded him with her own body from the wrath of the gods_, Robert had said, his voice full of awe.

_Durran and Elenei were foolish and irresponsible. They thought of nothing and no one except themselves_, had been Stannis' take on the matter.

Lyanna wondered if Elenei ever regretted it. If there were moments late at night, perhaps, when the sound of silence dominated, when Elenei thought of her father the sea-god and her mother the goddess of the wind.

Or if she had truly decided to cast all thoughts of them aside, forever, for Durran. For love.

Lyanna wondered too if Durran ever regretted it. If he ever looked at Elenei in later years and wondered whether their love was worth all the blood that had soiled the stormlands.

_We are home_, Lyanna cheered silently, when they finally reached the castle gate. And then was surprised at her own thought, that she was thinking of Storm's End as her home now. Stannis looked relieved too, Lyanna noticed, but his relief quickly faded into irritation when he caught sight of Renly running towards them, shouting and yelling in excitement. Lyanna thought it very sweet of Renly to come out to greet them, and she was relieved to see that the boy seemed well and happy. But one look at Stannis' expression and she knew he disapproved of Renly's behavior.

_He is much too hard on the boy_, Lyanna thought, not for the first time since her marriage.

_Is this how he will be as a father too?_

_What a convoluted affair a marriage truly is_, Lyanna contemplated. A tangled web of trust, mistrust, understanding and misunderstanding. Stannis had finally unburdened himself to her, had shared his concerns with her as she had wanted and expected, and yet that did not solve everything in their marriage.

Had she been expecting that it would? _No_, she insisted, _I am not that naive._

_Aren't you?_

She did not have a chance to speak to her husband that night. The journey had so exhausted her, Lyanna fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow after dinner. Her husband spoke with Maester Cressen late into the night, and she did not notice what time he finally came to bed. When she woke in the morning, he was already gone. Showing Ned where Robert was buried, according to Maester Cressen. Lyanna felt guilty. She should have offered to take Ned there herself.

"Is Patchface still unwell?" She asked the maester at the end of their conversation.

"He is mending, my lady," Cressen replied gravely. "The fever was at its peak not three days ago. I was worried we might lose him, in fact. But he seems to have rallied now."

"You did not mention his illness in your letter, Maester Cressen," Lyanna said softly.

"Forgive me, my lady. If there was any chance of Renly getting the fever too, I would have mentioned it, of course. But I have determined early on that the fever is not contagious."

_You did not think that Stannis and I would care what happened to that fool_, Lyanna thought. She could not blame the maester for thinking that about herself. Lyanna had seldom concerned herself with the fool. His songs and words frightened her, in truth, sounding so much like ominous threats to Lyanna's ears. And Patchface would look at her sometimes with a strange smile on his face, as if he was in possession of some secret about her, as if he could see through her, inside her, to the deep dark core no one else could see.

_I'm being foolish_, she chastised herself. _He is an unfortunate soul, robbed of his mind. That is all there is to it._

Stannis had allowed the fool to remain at Storm's End, a constant reminder of the day the sea had robbed Stannis and his brothers of their father and mother. Did he care for Patchface?

_I have never heard him yell at Patchface, the way he often does at Renly_, Lyanna recalled. But perhaps that was only because getting angry at an insensible fool was a fool's errand.

Later that day, Lyanna escorted Ned and Benjen to tour the castle. Her father had declined to accompany them. "There will be plenty of time later," he had replied. Lord Rickard Stark was having fun spending time with Renly, the boy telling him stories, acting out various parts, even putting on costumes.

"I hope my grandson will be as clever as Renly," Lyanna's father had told her at dinner last night. Would he be disappointed if the child she was carrying turned out to be a girl? Would Stannis? She would have to bear him at least one son, she knew, to be the heir of Storm's End. But this child, this child growing inside her now, she had been thinking of this child as a 'she' from the very beginning.

His mother had been convinced that she was carrying a girl when she was pregnant with Renly, Stannis had told Lyanna. Cassana Baratheon even had a name already picked out for that baby. Shireen. Shireen Baratheon. But the child turned out to be a boy, and he was named Renly instead. And his mother never lived to see Renly grow his first teeth, take his first step, or say his first word.

_If this child is a girl, we will name her Shireen._ "Shireen Baratheon," she tried saying the name out loud. It felt right to Lyanna.

"Who's Shireen Baratheon?" Benjen asked. "Another one of those Baratheons famous for their fury?"

Lyanna's face reddened. She had forgotten that she was with her brothers for a moment.

Ned was smiling. "Is it a name for the baby, Lya? If it's a girl?"

Benjen was grinning widely. "What if it's a boy? What will you call it?"

"The baby is not an 'it'!" Lyanna protested, pretending to be annoyed so that her brothers would move on to other subjects. But she underestimated them, obviously. Benjen would not let it go, and Ned was surprisingly gleeful too, joining in on the speculation.

"If it's a boy, will you name him after Stannis' father? Steffon Baratheon, isn't it?" Ned asked.

Lyanna shook her head. "I doubt it. Stannis is not exactly fond of the tradition of naming your child after the dead. Especially the recently dead._They will always feel second-best_, according to Stannis."

Ned nodded. "That makes sense." He paused, his brows creasing, looking concerned. "But do you agree with him, Lya? It will be your child too, not just his."

She smiled. "I agree, actually. I don't want my children to feel like they have to live up to some unattainable standard set by their namesake. And you know how it is with the dead, we tend to romanticize them, magnifying their glories tenfold and forgetting their flaws."

"Well, I guess that rules out 'Robert' too," Benjen said. Lyanna was surprised, it had not occurred to her at all to name a son of hers after Robert. Should it have? She wondered suddenly.

"Shireen is a beautiful name," Ned said.

"It sounds almost too … exotic," Benjen mused. "Are you sure your law-and-order, by-the-book husband will agree to it?" He laughed.

Lyanna's irritation was real this time. "I don't appreciate you making fun of my husband. Even if you and Brandon view him with derision, he is part of our family now."

"But I'm not making fun of him! I'm quite sure Stannis would take that as a compliment," Benjen replied with wide-eyed innocence that did not fool Lyanna for one moment.

"It is not about how Stannis might take it, it is about your own intention," Lyanna said, her tone gentler this time. She did not want to quarrel with her brother, she might not see him again for a long time after this.

"You laughed at him too, after you met him for the first time. You mocked the way he insisted that you should call him Lord Baratheon, and not Lord Stannis." Benjen's tone was poised between aggrieved and conciliatory, as if he could not decide whether to be annoyed or contrite.

"He was not my husband at the time," Lyanna replied. "He is now. I don't like it when my husband is mocked and made fun of, especially by my own brothers. Stannis himself might not care, but I do."

"Then I will not do it. For your sake, Lya," Benjen said, looking solemn.

She kissed her youngest brother on his cheek. "Thank you."

"You truly _are_ married now, aren't you?" Ned whispered to her.

"What do you mean?" Lyanna asked, surprised. "I have been married for many months."

"A wedding ceremony is not the same as a marriage," Ned replied.

Lyanna pondered the meaning of those words, as she made her way to Patchface's room later. She thought it her duty as the lady of Storm's End to visit him; he was living under their care and protection after all. Her husband was already in the room, standing stiffly beside the fool's bed, intently watching Patchface's sleeping face as if he could find the answer to a very important question there.

"His songs frightened me too, sometimes," Stannis broke the silence after a while. _Too?_ So he knew about her fear.

"What do you think they're really about? His songs?" Lyanna asked, her hand reaching for her husband.

"Who knows? I doubt he knows it himself."

"They seem … almost like … a warning," Lyanna said. She turned her face away, embarrassed. "I'm being silly."

"A warning?"

_A warning not from him, but from someone else, or something else, conveyed through him. _Lyanna was pondering whether to tell her husband sounded foolish even to her own ears, it would probably sound even more foolish to her husband's southerner ears. Lyanna might not have spent a lot of time praying in the godswood lately, but she had been a child of the north, raised with stories about the children of the forest and what roamed beyond the Wall. Not so for Stannis.

"So this is the fool who lives while your father and mother died." Her father's voice interrupted Lyanna's consideration. "I am amazed you still keep him here, Stannis. At Storm's End, to this day."

"There is nowhere else for him to go. My lord father bought the fool, he is the Baratheon's responsibility until the end of his days," Stannis replied.

"Perhaps he is the happiest creature among us, living in his own dream world, free of worries and concerns," Lyanna's father said, his expression thoughtful.

"I would not want to live in a dream world. I want to live knowing the truth, always," Stannis said, his eyes never leaving Rickard Stark's face.

Rickard Stark nodded. "Knowing the truth, and facing it without fear. I think it's time for us to have that conversation, Stannis."


	18. Chapter 18: Stannis IX

_We have found the most splendid fool. Only a boy, yet nimble as a monkey and witty as a dozen courtiers. He juggles and riddles and does magic, and he can sing prettily in four tongues. We have bought his freedom and hope to bring him home with us. Robert will be delighted with him, and perhaps in time he will even teach Stannis how to laugh._

His father had written those words to Maester Cressen, a fortnight before he and his wife were supposed to return home from that futile mission to find a bride for Rhaegar Targaryen. The maester had told Stannis about the fool Steffon Baratheon was bringing home, but he had neglected to mention his father's wish that the fool might teach Stannis how to laugh.

Robert had read that part out loud to Stannis, after the funeral. He had gone looking for the letter in Maester Cressen's room, making a mess of everything in the process, while the maester was still in the great hall greeting the guests and mourners.

"What are you doing?" Stannis had admonished him. "This is the maester's room. You have no right!"

"I have every right!" Robert had shouted. "That letter was from our father. His last letter. His last words."

"That letter was from Father to the maester, not to us. And if you really want to read it, you should ask Maester Cressen first," Stannis pointed out.

"I am Lord of Storm's End now. I have every right. Every right in the world," Robert replied, not shouting this time. The words were said with so much sorrow and hurt, Stannis did not have the heart to contradict his brother.

"Well, we will have to keep that fool here at Storm's End, of course," Robert had said after he finished reading the letter out loud.

"Because he is our responsibility now?" Stannis had asked.

Robert had smiled, very, very briefly. The first smile to graze his lips since the day Windproud had its final encounter with that ferocious storm. "Because anyone who could make my dour, humorless brother laugh is a priceless treasure. That fool must know real magic if he could really do that."

Stannis had scoffed in reply. "I doubt he can make _anyone_ laugh now. Not even _you_, who are so easily amused by anything silly and frivolous. Maester Cressen said his mind is completely gone. He can barely speak, and the things he says make no sense at all."

"Two days under the sea would do that to you," Robert had replied, seemingly already losing interest in the unfortunate creature.

"Do you think … he … he could tell us -" Stannis changed his mind abruptly before he had completed the question. "Never mind," he said instead.

Robert was staring at him, curious. "Tell us what? What do you want to know from that fool?"

Stannis shook his head. "Nothing. I don't think he can tell us anything," he said firmly.

_Were Mother and Father together when the ship went down? Were they holding hands? Were they afraid?_

_Did they see Robert and me waiting for them at the parapet?_

_Did they pray to the Seven, like I did?_

_Were they as furious as I had been with the gods, for refusing to listen?_

But Stannis knew that even if the fool could still speak sensibly, even if he had not lost his mind, he still could not have told Stannis the answers to those questions. Patchface must have been too scared himself, too busy worrying about his own fate as Windproud was sinking, to be observing or thinking about Steffon Baratheon and his lady wife.

And yet even _knowing_ that as an indisputable fact had not stopped Stannis from trying to find meaning in the fool's insensible words and songs. Was Patchface reliving the sinking of the ship and his near drowning with his songs? He sang often of the merwives under the sea with their gowns made of silver weeds. But to Stannis' great disappointment, the fool's tongue was completely silent on the subject of Steffon Baratheon and Cassana Estermont.

His wife was afraid of Patchface, Stannis finally realized, perhaps much later than he should. He had taken Lyanna's avoidance of the fool as mere indifference at first, or perhaps even disgust at such a hideous creature sharing their home. But he finally understood that it was not indifference or disgust that made her walk out of a room when Patchface was singing one of his songs, or meet the fool's gaze with a defiant, almost hostile stare of her own. The fool's songs troubled her greatly, and Stannis was almost afraid to ask why.

_A song is only a song, and a dream is only a dream_, Stannis reminded himself forcefully. _I am not a man who believes in anything I cannot see and hear with my own eyes and ears._

"I think it's time for us to have that conversation, Stannis." And yet, when Rickard Stark had spoken those words, Stannis was assailed by a sudden fear so great, he had almost silently prayed to the Seven, before violently stopping himself just in time.

_The gods did not listen then, why would they listen now?_

And who was he to pray to them now, he thought, when he had cursed them in every way possible, had promised himself never to believe again, had vowed never to worship again, from the very day his mother and father was buried.

They were standing at the parapet overlooking Shipbreaker Bay, Stannis and his father-in-law. Lord Rickard had led the way from Patchface's room, and Stannis had followed silently. Two days at Storm's End, and the Lord of Winterfell was already as familiar with the castle as if he had owned it himself. Rickard Stark did not seem to be in a hurry to start the conversation. He was gazing out to sea, his mouth set in a grim frown.

"This is where you were standing, wasn't it? You and Robert, waiting for your father's ship to dock," he finally broke the silence.

Stannis was not surprised that Lord Rickard had known this. Robert must have told Ned, and Ned Stark had told his father, Stannis thought. He nodded. "Yes. Robert was home from the Eyrie for a visit."

"Such an ill-fated trip. And an unnecessary one too," Rickard Stark sighed. "The blame lies not with your lord father of course," he added quickly, after he noticed Stannis stiffening beside him, "but with the king. There was no need for him to send your lord father and your lady mother on that fruitless trip. A wife for Prince Rhaegar could have been found among the daughters of the many lords of the Seven Kingdoms."

"It was a storm that killed my father and mother, not His Grace the king," Stannis replied.

"They would not have been caught up in that storm if they had not gone on the trip His Grace commanded," his father-in-law insisted.

"We might as well blame Prince Rhaegar too, in that case. After all, it was for the purpose of finding a bride for him that they went on that trip," Stannis voiced the thought that he had not voiced to anyone else before.

"The prince was against it, did you know that?" Rickard Stark did not wait for Stannis to reply. "He told his father he would be more than content to marry a woman from the Seven Kingdoms. But King Aerys … no … King Aerys insisted on a bride with the blood of old Valyria flowing inside her. Nothing else was good enough, supposedly. And yet in the end he married his son off to a Dornish woman," Lord Rickard scoffed.

"Dorne is still part of the Seven Kingdoms," Stannis pointed out to his father-in-law.

"Just barely," Lord Rickard replied serenely. "The point is, if he had consented to that match earlier, perhaps your father and mother would not have to die."

"I do not blame the king for their death," Stannis said stiffly, and firmly.

"Who do you blame, then? You blame _someone_, I am certain of it. You would not be this angry and bitter otherwise," Lord Rickard said, gazing shrewdly at Stannis.

"Perhaps I was born angry and bitter," Stannis replied.

Rickard Stark laughed. "Well, well. Maybe I have misjudged you after all. You are not as humorless as I have always thought." Stannis was about to protest that he had not been jesting, but his father-in-law surprised him by touching his arm and squeezing it gently. "No one is born angry and bitter, Stannis. Not even you," he said softly. "If you do not blame the king, do you blame your gods, then? The Seven with all their rules and insistence on order, and yet still cruel and disordered enough to snatch the lives of two blameless people as their sons stood watching."

How could he have known? Stannis had not told Robert this.

"Like you, I value order too. Order, predictability, stability," Lord Rickard said.

"Then perhaps you should worship the Seven instead of the old gods," Stannis retorted.

Rickard Stark smiled. "That is no more likely than you worshiping the gods of the north, despite your anger for the Seven. You would rather not worship anything at all." He paused. "It is a futile endeavor, blaming the gods. Their actions are completely out of our control. Our own action, on the other hand … What we choose to do, how we decide when that day finally comes, that could determine everything."

_That day?_ Stannis had no idea what his father-in-law meant by that.

Stannis thought of the king's words to him, and Prince Rhaegar's words as well. He was seeing the same pattern with this conversation with Lord Rickard. "War is the enemy of order and stability," Stannis said emphatically.

"Order and stability is the final destination. How we get there, well …" Lord Rickard shrugged. "And there might not have to be a war, if people such as yourself choose wisely."

"_They are trying to seduce you, the king and the crown prince both. Vying for your support. The king with all his talk of blood ties and loyalty, and the crown prince with all his talk of duty,_" Lyanna had said to Stannis, when he had finally opened up to her about his worries.

What should he tell his wife now? _Your father is trying to seduce me too, Lyanna. _


	19. Chapter 19: Lyanna X

His hand had fumbled trying to remove the blanket covering her, that first night. They had both been stripped for the bedding ceremony, but once the door was closed and it was only the two of them in the room, Stannis had handed a blanket to Lyanna, his eyes looking everywhere except at his naked wife, obviously expecting her to cover herself. He had covered himself with another blanket, and the two of them sat on opposite sides of the bed, not looking at each other, not saying a word, barely even breathing.

For a moment, Lyanna was almost relieved. _Perhaps he means to go to sleep_, she had thought. But then relief turned to annoyance. If not tonight, it would have to be some other night; they were married after all, and she was expected to provide him with an heir. _That is your duty_, her father had reminded her over and over again before the wedding. She was trapped now, in a cage both of her own making and not of her own making. She only wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

If she was truly honest with herself, what she really wanted was for there to be no way back at all. For the marriage to be consummated and therefore binding in the eyes of gods and men, so that she would never be tempted again. Never be tempted to cause hurt to another woman - no, to one woman in particular - in the name of love.

Her husband's hesitation – and perhaps even fear? - strengthened Lyanna's own resolve. She made her way quietly to his side of the bed, sitting beside him, as close as she dared. He said nothing at first, barely reacting to her presence. But then she caught him stealing a glance at her, quick as lightning, his face flushed. She waited for him to make the next move.

Waited … and waited … and waited, to no avail. Their breathing were almost synchronized now, she could feel it from the rise and fall of his chest, but still, he did nothing.

"Stannis," she called out his name finally, after her patience had worn thin. He turned to look at her. "Yes?" He snapped impatiently, his mouth frowning, as if she had distracted him from contemplating the mystery of existence itself. But his eyes betrayed him, they were telling a different story. She had never really noticed them before, those bottomless blue eyes. She stared and stared.

He stopped breathing. And then suddenly he was breathing as if he was underwater, a drowning man desperately grasping for shore. She took his right hand and guided it to her left shoulder. He pushed the blanket off on that side, while his left hand fumbled and shook nervously trying to push off the blanket on the other side. She grasped that hand and guided it too, slowly but surely, and then she was fully unclothed. He stared and stared.

She could not remember now if Stannis had removed the blanket covering himself on his own, or if she had done that, or if they had done it together; it had happened so quickly. He had called out her name, she recalled, called out her name questioningly, as if to make sure that she was certain.

"Lyanna?"

"Yes, I'm sure," she whispered.

"You're sure? About what?" Stannis asked.

_How clueless could he be?_ She was about reply, when she suddenly realized that she was no longer in the land of memory, that her husband was really standing in front of her, fully clothed and not naked, looking at her with what passed as an amused expression for Stannis Baratheon.

"What are you sure about?" He asked again. "And why were you whispering?"

"Nothing." She was blushing, to her great consternation. "I was just ... thinking of something."

"Anything in particular?"

"Nothing important," she said firmly. "What did my father have to say?"

Stannis took a deep breath. "Are you sure you want to know?"

She did not hesitate. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Your father has chosen a side. Or perhaps … he has chosen his own side, I am not certain, he was quite vague. But whatever it is, he has not chosen the king."

"I didn't know there _were_ sides to choose from," Lyanna said.

"Don't you?"

Lyanna met her husband's gaze, and held it. "No, you're right, I do know. I just don't want to admit it."

"I don't either," Stannis said softly.

"I don't want this night to end," Stannis had said to her that first night, after their union. She had laughed, and replied, "There will be other nights." He had frowned. "Not like this. Not when we _have_ to."

_It will be better when we don't _have_ to_, she had thought, but not said. _Much better. _And she had been proven right.

"Has Father chosen Rhaegar, then?" Lyanna was asking her husband now.

"I think so, yes, He spoke of a council, and a new king promising more autonomy for the north."

"A council? Not very likely," Lyanna scoffed. "King Aerys would go to war first." Surely her father could not be that naïve?

"Your father knows that."

_And is willing to pay the price._ "Perhaps … if I tell him … if I tell him about Rhaegar and myself -"

"What good will that do?" Stannis interrupted swiftly. "That is all in the past," he said firmly, and then paused for a long while, his face deeply troubled. "And I am worried it might even drive him to a more drastic path."

The Starks were kings once, her father had taught Lyanna and her brothers. King in the North.

If war really was coming, Stannis would have to choose too. The lord of the stormlands would have to pick a side as well.

_It's not fair, _Lyanna thought. She was only _just_ beginning to know happiness again. Only _just_ beginning to wake, after a long slumber of emptiness and numbness.

_I have decided to be happy._

_No, _we_ have decided to be happy._

She took her husband's hand, and guided him to their bed. His hand did not fumble while undressing her, this time.


	20. Chapter 20: Stannis X

"A grand feast," Benjen Stark said, winking at his sister. There was something in his tone, something more than mere playfulness. Was it mockery? It would not surprise Stannis if it was indeed mockery. Lyanna gave her brother a stern look, and the two Stark siblings engaged in a staring contest. Benjen lost; he was the first to look away, wilting under Lyanna's withering gaze. That did not surprise Stannis in the least.

"Perhaps we should invite singers and musicians to the feast, my lord. Or even fools and jesters," Maester Cressen had suggested. "To showcase the songs and stories of the south to Lord Stark and his sons. "

"He's been to the south before," Stannis had replied. "This is not his first time leaving Winterfell."

"The south, yes, but not the stormlands," Maester Cressen pointed out.

Singers with their bawdy, ribald and obscene songs. And songs about the romance and glory of wars and battles. Stannis wanted neither at his feast. Especially now. "Musicians only," he declared. "No singers, fools or jesters. And tell the musicians not to play too loudly."

Rickard Stark had not seemed displeased with the feast. Indeed, he was too busy conversing with the other guests to notice the lack of entertainment. At the moment, he was deep in conversation with Lord Estermont, their voices too low for Stannis to know what was the subject occupying his grandfather and his father-in-law. They had both glanced at Stannis from time to time, as if he was the subject of their conversation.

"And what did Robert do, then?" Renly's voice, loud and excited, could be heard clearly over the music. Ned Stark whispered something to him, and Renly laughed uproariously. Ned was laughing too, albeit not as loudly and rudely as Renly. Renly had cajoled, begged and pleaded Stannis to attend the feast. Stannis had absolutely forbidden it at first; the boy was too young and too unruly to behave properly in front of guests.

"They won't be here for long, the Starks. And it was so lonely when you and Lyanna were gone. I was here alone. You left me alone," Renly had complained, amidst his tears.

"Nonsense!" Stannis had snapped. "You were never alone. Maester Cressen and the rest of the household were here the whole time."

"It's not the same!" Renly had shouted.

"Stop shouting. If you can't behave yourself with me now, how can I trust you to behave yourself in front of all the guests?"

That had only made the boy cry harder. Stannis had walked away in anger, leaving Renly still sobbing. But he had let Renly come to the feast, in the end. He could not explain why, even to himself.

He was regretting that inexplicable decision now.

The music was still to loud for Stannis' liking. The boom boom boom of the drum was making his head pound incessantly. Even the sound of the guests slurping their soup irritated him beyond measure.

Why can't they eat without making so much noise?

When will this blasted feast end?

He was almost ready to explode.

Lyanna's hand grasped his hand firmly, her fingers tickling his palm. He turned to look at her, but her attention was seemingly fixed on Lady Selmy, the two women smiling and exchanging stories about … rabies? Or babies. Stannis could not tell for sure, Lyanna's fingers on his palm were so very, very distracting. He should make her stop immediately, he knew. But he let her continue. At least it was making the pounding in his head cease for a moment.

After a while, he realized that Lady Selmy was looking at him with a slightly quizzical expression on her face. Stannis quickly turned his face away.

What is the lady's problem?

Lady Selmy was whispering to Lyanna, but not softly enough to escape Stannis' hearing. "Lord Stannis must be very happy to be a father. I don't think I have ever seen him smile like that." She paused. "I don't think I have ever seen him smile at all, actually."

A commotion broke out at the back of the hall before Lyanna could reply to Lady Selmy. A man was making his way with haste to their table, knocking over a few serving boys carrying food and drinks in his urgency.

"Lord Baratheon. My lord," the man shouted even before he arrived in front of Stannis. Stannis recognized the man as the castellan of Griffin's Roost.

"A raven … a raven from King's Landing, my lord." He was breathless, barely able to speak.

"Give him some water," Stannis ordered a serving boy standing nearby.

"No, no, my lord. There is no time. A raven arrived from King's Landing. The king has arrested Lord Connington, along with Prince Rhaegar and Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard. The charge … the charge is treason, my lord. Conspiring to depose the king, to put Prince Rhaegar on the throne before his time comes."

Shock, confusion, and loud voices filled the hall. Before Stannis could say anything, Lord Cafferen was shouting. "Treason? Absolute nonsense! This must be the work of the Spider, whispering lies in the king's ears." Other voices joined in, the ruckus too confusing for Stannis to know what they were saying.

The castellan of Griffin's Roost was on his knees, pleading to Stannis. "My lord, Lord Connington is your sworn bannerman. He has always been loyal to you, and to your brother before you. He is being wrongfully and unjustly persecuted. Will you appeal to the king for justice?"

"Justice! Justice!" Multiple voices were shouting, among them Stannis' own grandfather, Lord Estermont.

Maester Cressen was making his way back to his seat with difficulty, his face grave, his hand holding a scroll. A scroll stamped with the royal seal. He started reading. "King Aerys II Targaryen hereby commands Stannis of the House Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, to present himself to the king -"

More noises and commotion, louder this time, drowning out Maester Cressen's voice. "Is the king planning to arrest Lord Stannis too?" Someone was asking, a voice Stannis did not recognize.

Lord Estermont stood up. "Perhaps it is time call your banner, Stannis, and march to King's Landing. If indeed the king plans to do the same injustice to you that he is doing to your bannerman Lord Connington, and to his own son. We will march with you, House Estermont. And the other Houses too, I am certain," he said, his gaze sweeping over the other lords.

"Yes!" Some of them cheered, but not all of them, Stannis noticed. Some stayed silent.

Maester Cressen was trying mightily to be heard over the ruckus and commotion, to no avail.

"Silence!" Stannis pounded his hand on the table. "Let the maester finish reading the letter."

The hall was as silent as a crypt, for the first time that night. Maester Cressen continued his reading. "The king has summoned Lord Stannis to King's Landing to accept the appointment as the new Hand of the King."

Shocked faces filled the hall, people looking at each other warily, trying to decipher what this meant. Lord Rickard smiled a sardonic smile. "Very brilliant and ingenious of the king," he said.

Stannis stared at his father-in-law with anger. "I am not a man that can be easily bought with riches and position," Stannis said in a caustic tone.

"No, no, no," Lord Rickard was shaking his head vigorously. "It is neither riches nor position the king is offering you. It is duty he is laying out for you, in a platter full of thorns. And he thinks he knows you well enough to know that you will not refuse it." Lord Rickard's eyes were not letting go of Stannis. "Is he right?"

Stannis did not reply; he made his way out of the hall instead. Lyanna motioned for the musicians to start playing again, and the feast continued with the next course, pigeons stuffed with mushrooms. Lyanna followed Stannis to their room.

"I'm coming with you. To King's Landing," she said, as soon as they were in the room and the door was closed.

Stannis was shocked. "I do not know yet if I will accept the appointment."

"But you are still going to King's Landing. If not to accept the appointment as Hand of the King, then to ensure that Jon Connington receives a fair trial."

Stannis nodded. "He is my sworn bannerman. It is my duty to see that he is not being treated in an unjust manner." He stared at his wife. "You know me too well."

"Too well for your liking?" Lyanna asked, smiling. It was the saddest smile Stannis had ever seen, on her face or on anyone else's.

"No," he said softly, his hand grazing her lips. "Don't say anything yet, just listen. You can't come to King's Landing."

Lyanna was about to protest, but the look on Stannis' face silenced her. "I need you here, at Storm's End."

"You have Maester Cressen, and the castellan. Storm's End does not need me."

"Yes, it does. Especially now. And Renly … Renly needs you too. And there is the baby to consider."

"We can bring Ren-" Lyanna started speaking, but then shook her head. "I am being foolish, aren't I? We can't bring Renly to King's Landing."

Stannis shook his head too. "No, we can't. We don't know what is going to happen at King's Landing. Things could get … dangerous." He hesitated. Closed his eyes to steel his nerves and say what must be said. "If something were to happen to me, you must protect Renly and our child. I don't trust anyone else to do it, not even my grandfather."

"I will," Lyanna replied without hesitation. She did not say, "nothing will happen to you." He was grateful for that. She had not said, "don't go." He was grateful for that as well.

It was the truth, what he had told her. About Renly and their baby, and about Storm's End needing its mistress in times of uncertainty. But he also wanted her here for her own sake.

Knowing his wife, though, that was the last thing in the world that would convince her to stay, so he did not tell her that.


	21. Chapter 21: Lyanna XI

"Stay," she wanted to tell her husband. "Don't go." But it was an option already precluded for her, married to this man. And Lyanna also realized that it was dangerous for Stannis to ignore the summon from the king. Volatile and unstable as King Aerys was, no one knew how he would react to his command being ignored.

She wanted to go with him, wanted it more than anything else. _How silly_, she reproached herself later. _As if I could protect him from the king._

_Why not?_ She rebelled against her own reproachful thoughts. She had fought, in disguise, during the tourney at Harrenhal after all, and beaten quite a few knights without much difficulty.

_You were not carrying a child inside you, then._

At times she still felt like a child herself. A child resisting change, wanting things to stay the same. Because their lives would never be the same again, she had realized, the instant Maester Cressen started reading that letter. She prayed for time to reverse itself. She wished fervently that those two ravens had never arrived.

_Wishes and prayers are for fools_, she had heard Stannis saying to Maester Cressen once. But she did not care, they were all she had now.

Renly had cried. Renly had yelled, "Don't go!" as Stannis was leaving. "You only just came back, why are you leaving again?" He had grabbed Stannis' hand forcefully, refusing to let go. Stannis had not said anything, not one word, had not reprimanded Renly the way he usually would have done when he thought Renly was "misbehaving" or "making a scene." Lyanna and Ned between them managed to pry Renly loose, the boy sobbing uncontrollably as Stannis rode away.

"Why is he going to see the king if the king is mad at him? What if the king punishes Stannis?" Renly was asking Lyanna amidst his tears. Lyanna had almost forgotten that Renly was present at the feast, when the castellan of Griffin's Roost had made his appeal to Stannis, and Maester Cressen had read the letter from the king.

"The king is not mad at Stannis," Lyanna said as reassuringly as she could, her hand wiping away the tears from Renly's cheeks.

Lyanna's father had sent Benjen back to Winterfell with a letter for Brandon. A very important letter that must be delivered to his hand and his hand only, Lyanna had overheard the instruction. _What are you planning, Father?_ Her father had sent Benjen instead of Ned because Stannis had asked Ned to stay at Storm's End while he was away.

The next few days after Stannis left felt like a dream to Lyanna. She was counting the days until he reached King's Landing. Part of her wished he would never arrive there, or he would suddenly decide to turn back. Her father was still at Storm's End, frequently engaged in hushed conversations with Lord Estermont, Stannis' grandfather. Lyanna walked in on them during one such conversation, and they both clammed up immediately when they saw her. She wanted to shout – _What are you whispering? What are you planning and plotting under my husband's roof? Under my roof?_ But a lifetime of forced courtesy stayed her tongue, and she merely smiled and quickly left the room.

She shared her concern about their father with Ned. Ned nodded, looking thoughtful. "Something was going on between Brandon and Father during the tourney. There were a few occasions when they quickly turned silent when Benjen and I came into the room while they were talking."

"What is Father planning?" She was worried for her father too. She loved him, despite everything.

"Maybe you should ask him," Ned said.

Lyanna deflected the suggestion. "Maybe _you_ should. You're his son after all, I'm merely a daughter. He would say that it is none of my concern, if I'm the one asking the question."

Ned looked sad. "I don't think he trusts me so much more either. Not like he does with Brandon. But of course that is as it should be, Brandon is his heir." He paused. "Whatever it is he's planning, Stannis seems to be involved somehow, with or without his knowledge. It_ is_ your concern, you have a right to know, as Stannis' wife. We'll ask him together."

Lyanna considered it. It was a sweet offer, but she knew it was something she had to do on her own. "Thank you, Ned, but no. I will ask Father myself." Tomorrow, she resolved. First thing in the morning.

She was formulating the questions she wanted to ask her father in her mind, when Ned suddenly changed the subject so abruptly Lyanna thought the floor was spinning. "Is it because of the crown prince? Is it because of him you didn't make a fuss about Stannis going to King's Landing?"

She had no clue what Ned was driving at. She stared at him, mystified. "I know, Lya." Ned said plaintively. "I know about you and Rhaegar."

So many questions she wanted to ask her brother. _What exactly do you know? How did you find out? Did Robert know?_ But there was one question foremost in her mind, above all else.

"What do you mean when you asked if it was because of Rhaegar that I did not make a fuss about Stannis going to King's Landing? Ned?"

Ned looked uncomfortable. "You know what I mean, Lya."

"No, I don't. You're going to have to spell it out for me."

"Did you … did you want Stannis to go to King's Landing in part … in part ... for Rhaegar's sake?"

She had poured wine over Benjen's head when Benjen had teased her about crying, listening to Rhaegar's song. She almost regretted not having a goblet of wine in her hand now; she would have poured it over Ned's head.

"What exactly are you asking me, Ned? Did I want my husband to purposely put himself in danger so he can rescue the man I once loved?" Lyanna asked, her voice full of disdain. "Is that what you're accusing me of?"

Ned was shaking his head vigorously, his expression full of regret. He took Lyanna's hand. "No, Lya. I am not accusing you of anything."

Lyanna snatched her hand away, her anger still boiling. "You were! That is exactly what you were doing. Did it ever occur to you the danger Stannis would be in if he ignores the king's command? Or were you too busy doubting me, suspecting me, to think about that?"

Ned looked ashamed. "Forgive me. I have wronged you. Very, very badly."

And yet, Lyanna wondered later, why had she been so angry at Ned for bringing up the matter? It was not a completely unreasonable assumption for an outsider to make, considering the circumstances.

_Ned is not an outsider, he is my brother. He should know me better than that._

It had hurt, a lot, Ned accusing her of that. And yet, part of her wondered …

_No! The thought had never occurred to me, not until Ned brought it up._ She knew this to be the truth. She had no reason to doubt herself.

A horrifying thought struck her suddenly. What if that same suspicion had occurred to Stannis? What if he had interpreted her reaction to him going to King's Landing the same way Ned did?

Before she could vex herself even more, Renly walked into her bedroom. He had obviously been crying again, his eyes red, his cheeks trailing dried tears. He was looking more and more like Robert did as a boy, Ned had told Lyanna. Renly sat down next to her on the bed, embracing her tightly. Lyanna returned the embrace with one hand, her other hand smoothing over his unruly hair.

"Can't you sleep? Do you want me to read you a story?"

He shook his head. Renly already knew his letters, Maester Cressen had started teaching him early, but he insisted on Lyanna reading to him most nights.

"Or do you want me to tell you more about the children of the forest?"

He shook his head again. "Can I sleep with you, Lya?" Renly whispered, his hand clutching her nightdress.

"Just for tonight," Lyanna replied. "You're a brave boy, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am." He looked pleased. "Just for tonight. I promise," Renly said solemnly.

Truthfully, she was glad for the company. She sang to him the song her mother used to sing when Lyanna had trouble falling asleep as a child. But they both stayed awake, Renly and Lyanna, neither drifting into the land of dreams.

"Do you want me to tell you a story?" Renly asked, after Lyanna was done with her song.

"What is it about?"

"It's about a stag who married a she-wolf," Renly replied. "They did not like each other very much at first," he whispered, giggling.

Lyanna laughed. "Well, go on. What happened next?"


	22. Chapter 22: Stannis XI

"He is here," Ser Barristan whispered softly to the woman standing in front of the carved figure of the Mother.

The queen was with child, Stannis realized with shock, as the woman turned to face Stannis. How had he missed it during the tourney? The bulge was visible despite the very loosely fitting robe she was wearing. Her face was hidden behind a veil.

Was she praying to the Seven? It seemed odd to Stannis. The Targaryens had their own gods, Stannis knew.

"Kneel, Lord Stannis," the queen whispered softly. "Kneel like you are praying." She proceeded to do so herself.

Stannis hesitated. "Your Grace, I –"

Ser Barristan whispered impatiently to Stannis. "The queen is not asking you to pray! This is the only way to talk without arousing suspicion."

It made sense, Stannis thought. They were in a sept after all. A small, secluded sept located outside the city gate. He kneeled down next to the queen. Ser Barristan stood back a little further behind, standing guard.

Well, that's not very shrewd, Stannis thought. The queen seemed to be trying to conceal her identity with the robe and the veil, but Ser Barristan's presence would have announced to anyone watching that a member of the royal family was present. Barristan Selmy was not wearing his Kingsguard uniform, but Stannis had no doubt that most people in King's Landing would have recognized Barristan the Bold, no matter what clothes he was in.

Stannis admonished himself for falling for the cloak-and-dagger nonsense. Not just falling for it, but actively involving himself in it. He had refused to come, at first, when Ser Barristan had accosted him just outside the city gate with the summon from the queen.

"My order from the king is to see him immediately, as soon as I arrive in King's Landing," Stannis had protested. "Please let Her Grace know that I will come to her as soon as the king is done with me."

"But you have not arrived yet, Lord Stannis," Ser Barristan said solemnly. "You have not crossed the gate to the city. We are still outside King's Landing at the moment."

Stannis scoffed. "Surely you do not actually believe in that argument, Ser Barristan. And the queen is in the Red Keep, which is inside the city."

"No, she wishes to meet with you somewhere else. Not in the Red Keep, and not inside the city."

Somewhere else? Does that mean Queen Rhaella is on her son's side?

"The king has made his command clear, Ser Barristan. I have to obey my king," Stannis replied firmly. "I will see the queen afterwards, if she still wishes to speak to me then."

Ser Barristan sighed. "Her Grace was right after all, she knew you would be this stubborn," he said, his hand handing a letter to Stannis. "This is from her own hand."

Stannis stared at the letter with suspicion. "From Queen Rhaella? For myself?"

Ser Barristan was no longer hiding his impatience and disgust. "Yes, Lord Stannis, it is for you." He pushed the letter into Stannis' resisting hand. "If you still have any feeling for your late father's cousin, then read it. Read it now, Lord Stannis."

"The king is my father's cousin too," Stannis pointed out.

"So is the queen," Ser Barristan refused to give up.

"Why are you doing this, Ser Barristan? You, a member of the Kingsguard, sworn to protect the king, sworn to serve him with absolute loyalty," Stannis said.

"Perhaps there are times when the king must be protected from himself. From his own … instincts," Ser Barristan replied. There was not much conviction in his voice, however.

Stannis waited silently. Barristan Selmy had more to say, he knew.

Sure enough, Barristan Selmy continued after a while. "That's what I tried to tell myself, at any rate," he said, his voice full of disgust, but disgust with himself, not with Stannis this time.

"What is your real reason?" Stannis asked.

"Because … because I remember a young woman who was deeply in love with a knight, but was forced to marry her brother instead. Because of all the times I, and the other members of the Kingsguard, pretended not to see, or hear, when her brother … her husband … was mistreating her. We pretended not to see the bruises or hear the screams and cries."

Queen Rhaella and Ser Barristan?

Barristan Selmy laughed, seeing the expression on Stannis' face. "No, no, Lord Stannis. I am not that knight." He paused, his expression solemn again. "The knight she loved and lost, who could have made her life less of a living hell. Will you read her letter?"

Pretended not to see the bruises or hear the screams and cries. Stannis remembered the king's long and sharp fingernails digging into Queen Rhaella's arm during the feast. He took the letter from Ser Barristan, before he knew he had truly decided to read it.

But read it he did. It was a very short letter, consisting of only one sentence.

The last time I saw your father, Cousin Steffon said I could always call for his help if ever I have a need for it.

She had signed the letter simply 'Rhaella'. Not Queen Rhaella, or Rhaella Targaryen.

Stannis sighed. A thousand different thoughts and considerations passed through his mind.

"Do not trust anyone. Anyone at all. Not even my father. They all have their own schemes and plans." His wife's words to him before he left Storm's End rang in his ears. He almost wished that Lyanna was here, with him, at this moment. He violently pushed that thought aside. No! She is exactly where she should be.

"Lord Stannis?" Ser Barristan was staring at him. "Have you decided? Are you coming with me?"

There is nothing wrong with merely listening to what she wants to say, he thought. "Take me to the queen, Ser Barristan."

Barristan Selmy had led Stannis to this small sept. The dust and cobwebs indicated to Stannis that it had been deserted for quite a while.

"This used to be a well-known spot for travelers coming to King's Landing. But ever since the construction of new routes for the Kingsroad, this sept has been almost entirely abandoned. A septon is no longer assigned here, in fact," Ser Barristan had explained. "But we never know who could be watching, so we must still be wary, and careful."

Stannis and the queen kneeled in front of the Mother for what seemed like an eternity to Stannis, before she finally started speaking. "There is no time for long explanations or preambles, my absence at the palace will be noticed soon. You must accept the appointment, Stannis. As Aerys' Hand of the King."

Stannis could not hide his shock and astonishment. He had not expected her to say this.

The queen glanced at him, studying his face. "You are surprised? Did you think I asked you here to take Rhaegar's side, to fight for him against his father?"

Stannis' face reddened. "The thought did occur to me, Your Grace."

"Why?" The queen was asking. "Because a mother must always take her son's side? Otherwise she is not a good mother?"

Stannis shook his head quickly. "No. Only … the king … your husband …"

She closed her eyes. "There is no need to say it. I know what my husband is, Stannis, better than anyone else." Her hand was clutching his arm suddenly, insistent, desperate. "That is why you must take up the appointment. You are the only one who can stop this madness, this march to war against his own son. He will listen to you! He will!"

The queen's desperation must have driven her quite mad herself. "Your Grace, I do not have the influence over the king that you think I do," he said, as gently but firmly as he could. "He does not know me, has not seen me for years and years before the tourney, in fact. And he certainly does not trust me." Not the way the king seemed to trust the Spider, certainly.

"He trusted your father," the queen said. "He believed in your father's absolute loyalty, in fact. After all, your father died performing a service for Aerys."

"I am not my father, Your Grace," Stannis said sadly.

"But you are your father's son, and you reminded the king of Cousin Steffon very much. It grieves me to say this, but Aerys never liked your brother Robert. Never trusted him, in fact. With you, on the other hand, it is quite a different story."

The queen's hand was still on Stannis' arm. "My son has been foolish. Very foolish and naïve. Convening a council to choose a new king? Does he really believe that those men who claim to support him would be content with putting Rhaegar on the throne and leaving Aerys alone once he is set aside? No, they would demand Aerys' head, to secure Rhaegar's throne. Viserys' head too, and this child I'm carrying. They will kill us all and Rhaegar will be a mere puppet on the throne, powerless and under the command of those lords. Or they might even turn against Rhaegar in the end, killing him too, and putting one of them on the throne. It will be the end of House Targaryen. That must not happen! That cannot happen!"

"Why didn't you tell your son this?"

"I didn't know, you see! About Rhaegar's plan. Not until it was too late. He did not seek my counsel. He … he fears for me, for what his father might do to me." The queen smiled, a sad, sorrowful smile. "He is a sweet boy. My son, my firstborn." The smiled faded quickly. "But he should have told me. I am not as weak and helpless as people think I am."

Stannis did not want to say what he was about to say, but he knew it was something he had to point out to the queen. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but perhaps now that the king has arrested Prince Rhaegar, the plan has been foiled. The king will pardon his son at some point, and –"

The queen snatched her hand away from Stannis' arm, and stared at Stannis, disappointment shining clearly from her eyes. She sighed deeply, and muttered something under her breath Stannis could not hear.

"Your Grace?"

"Forgive me, Stannis, I've forgotten how young you are, even younger than Rhaegar," she said finally.

What does my age have to do with anything?

"Aerys will not forgive and forget so easily. And I fear what he might do to Rhaegar, as well as to the other two he arrested alongside Rhaegar."

Stannis understood now, the queen thought him naïve too, perhaps more naïve than her son, for thinking that the danger had been averted. But he did not think that, not really, the situation was more precarious than ever, Stannis knew. And yet he also did not see how accepting the appointment as Hand of the King would change anything. There was nothing he, Stannis Baratheon, could do in this matter, despite what the queen was desperate enough to believe.

"Your Grace, I am only here to inquire about the fate of Jon Connington, my sworn bannerman. If he is suspected of a crime, then he deserves a fair trial," Stannis said.

"You cannot help him as Stannis Baratheon, lord of the Stormlands. But as Stannis Baratheon, Hand of the King, you might have a chance," the queen replied. "Aerys wants you as his Hand, the Spider argued strenuously against it, I heard them talking. That means something, doesn't it? How can you let go of the opportunity to make things right? Isn't it your duty to try and prevent war and bloodshed?" The queen was almost pleading now.

"Perhaps it is not me the king wants, but merely to ensure the support of the lord of the Stormlands. He wants my bannermen, not Stannis Baratheon the man, or my counsel," Stannis replied without hesitation.

"You will regret this, one day. When you finally realized that you had a chance to save us all and you refused to take it because of your fear and insecurity. I promise you, you will regret this." The queen was no longer pleading now. She was angry. Livid, in fact.

Ser Barristan's voice was whispering insistently. "There are people coming. Your Grace, we must leave. Now."

The queen was having difficulty standing up, after kneeling down for so long. Stannis held out his hand to help her up. She refused to take it at first, but she finally did, holding on to his hand even after she was up. "Think carefully about what I said, Stannis. Very, very carefully. Before you make your decision. Remember this too – Aerys does not take too well to rejection."

She was gone before Stannis could think of a reply.


	23. Chapter 23: Lyanna XII

Renly's story had ended with the she-wolf and the stag celebrating the birth of their child. A stag he-wolf, Renly had called the baby. As fierce as a wolf, but as swift as a stag. "Wolves are swift too," Lyanna had said, pretending to be affronted.

"But wolves are fatter than stags, so they can't run as fast," Renly had replied solemnly.

Lyanna laughed. "Am I fatter than Stannis?"

"You are now," Renly said, touching her belly. He laughed, and then whispered. "It's only a jest, Lya. Are you angry?"

She kissed the top of his head. His hair smelled of the grass outside; Renly spent a lot of time daydreaming and staring at the sky. And making up stories about all the things he saw, Lyanna suspected. "No," she assured him. "I am not angry."

"When the baby comes, will you … will you still love me?" His voice was near tears suddenly. Lyanna was shocked. Where was this coming from?

"Of course I will," she said firmly. "And I'm counting on you to help me with the baby," Lyanna continued, smiling. "You are going to be an uncle."

"Uncle Renly," Renly said, his voice full of wonder. He started recounting all the things he would be teaching the baby, all the games they would be playing together, and the sound of his own voice finally carried him off to sleep. Lyanna adjusted the blanket covering Renly, and tried to fall asleep herself. But she was not as lucky as Renly.

Everyone was quite subdued at breakfast the next morning, even Renly, who was playing with his food instead of eating it, and who kept asking if Stannis had arrived in King's Landing yet. Lord Estermont had finally left, riding off before dawn. Lyanna knew it was improper for her to be relieved at his leaving, but relief was what she felt. It was not only Lord Estermont's whispered and hushed conversations with Lyanna's father that bothered her, it was also the fact that Lord Estermont clearly favored Robert over Stannis. His conversations were often peppered with fond reminiscences of how things were when Robert was the lord of Storm's End. It was one thing for outsiders to do it, Lyanna thought, but a grandfather should not show his preference so visibly, so clearly. She felt aggrieved on her husband's behalf.

Ned was the first to leave the table, to train with the men and knights. They were training every day now, instead of every other day; Stannis had left them with that instruction. Then Maester Cressen came to fetch Renly for his lesson, and Lyanna and her father were left alone at the table. She glanced at him a few times, but he was seemingly absorbed with the food.

"Have you heard anything from Stannis yet?" Her father was the one who broke the silence, to Lyanna's chagrin. What happened to her resolve to confront her father? She steeled herself, she must not lose her courage, when so much was at stake.

"No, he would not have written from the road. He would have waited until he reached the city," Lyanna replied.

"Is he planning to accept the appointment? As Hand of the King."

Lyanna shook her head. "I'm not sure."

Rickard Stark looked extremely skeptical, watching his daughter with raised eyebrows. "But surely he told you what his plans were. His own wife. When it comes to a matter of such importance as this, surely he shared his deliberation and decision with you."

Lyanna deflected the question. "Did you always tell Mother everything?"

Her father closed his eyes. Lyanna regretted her question already. "Forgive me, Father. I -"

Her father waved away her apology. "Not always. And not everything, certainly," he replied. "But I wish your mother is here right now. I could use her counsel right now," he continued softly.

_Mother would have told you not to do anything that could endanger lives and risk a war_, Lyanna wanted to tell her father. But was that really true? Lyanna was very young when he mother died, she had no idea what her mother really thought of anything.

She was a daughter, a sister, a wife. She was the Lady of Winterfell. And she was a woman and a person in her own right. But Lyanna knew nothing of those things.

_I knew her only as my mother. And even then, only for such a short time._

She missed her mother so acutely at that moment, felt the loss so deeply it took her breath away. Lyanna raged at the opportunity robbed from her; to know her mother not just as a mother, but as a woman, as a person with fears and insecurities, doubts and uncertainties.

_Mother, have you ever felt so anxious for someone, you woke up in the middle of the night screaming his name silently?_

"Lya?" Her father had not called her _Lya_ for a long time, not since he started talking about her betrothal and marriage. "You are Lady Lyanna of House Stark, and I will find a good match for you," he had told her, on her fourteenth nameday. The unspoken message clearly was – _do not upset the plan by being your stubborn self_._ By being Lya the wild child._

The wild child who had delighted her father when she was younger, by always managing to keep up with her three brothers in everything. Riding, fighting, even cursing. But everything changed the day her moon-blood finally came. "You are a woman now, and you must act like a woman," her father had said.

She had loved her childhood and the freedom that she had, and would not have traded it for anything. Yet at times Lyanna wondered if it was more cruel to allow her a glimpse of that freedom, and then to have it snatched away so suddenly, all because "you are a woman now." Maybe if she had been raised like other girls, she would not have felt the loss of freedom so deeply or resented it so acutely.

But perhaps she would have resented her father all the more, for never allowing her that freedom, even as a child. She stared at her father across the table. He was carefully brushing off crumbs from his doublet. Lyanna smiled. Her father, so fastidious, so particular about everything. In some ways, just like her husband. The thought of Stannis wiped the smile off her face.

"What if Stannis accepts the appointment? To be King Aerys' Hand." Lyanna asked her father abruptly.

"I counseled him not to do that, before he left. I think it would be a mistake," her father said cautiously.

"Why? Why would it be a mistake?"

"Heavens child, you know why. The king is mad, off his head. It is only a matter of time before he does something truly terrible. Not that he hasn't already, but so far he's somehow been … _wise_ enough to burn only the common folks," Rickard Stark's voice curdled with contempt saying the word 'wise'. "Most of the highborn lords are keen to close their eyes – _well, it's not one of us he's burning_. But it will be, soon enough. It will be. Mark my word."

"Did you tell Stannis this?"

"Yes, all that and more. But that husband of yours is a stubborn man. _Rumors_, he said. Whispers and rumors, never been proven. I suppose he would not believe it until he sees Aerys burning someone with his own eyes."

A horrifying thought struck her suddenly, something she cursed herself for not considering much sooner. _And what if Stannis refuses the appointment and the king … the king …_

Lyanna dared not finish the thought. Was it too late to write to Stannis now, to implore him to accept? How far was he from King's Landing at the moment? How would a raven even find him before he reached the city?

But then what would happen if her father threw his support behind Rhaegar against the king? Her husband, at war with her father and her brothers? How was she supposed to live with that?

_I should have told him not to go. I should have begged him, pleaded with him. I should have coerced him not to leave his family, his pregnant wife, if begging and pleading do not work. Why should it matter if it will make him think a lot less of me? As long as he lives. As long as he does not come to harm._

But would it? Ensure that he lived? The king would have taken Stannis' refusal to come to King's Landing as a graver offense, Lyanna thought. As proof of treason, perhaps. Proof that Stannis was in league with Rhaegar.

How do you choose, when there are no good choices left? When all routes lead to danger and ruin?


	24. Chapter 24: Stannis XII

_"Are you always so certain about where your duty lies, Stannis?" _Rhaegar Targaryen had asked him that, once upon a time.

_"Will you be as loyal to me as your father was, Stannis? Can I count on you as much as I counted on him? As much as I once depended on him?"_ The king had asked Stannis that, before the crown prince had asked his question.

_"You will regret this, one day. When you finally realized that you had a chance to save us all and you refused to take it because of your fear and insecurity."_ The queen had warned him, the last of the Targaryens to speak to Stannis.

_My fear and insecurity? What did she mean by that? _

It was not fear and insecurity driving the decision he was making. No, the decision he was trying to make. And he had no illusion, none at all, that he was capable of saving anyone. He had lost that delusion the day he and Robert stood at the parapet of Storm's End, waiting for a ship that never arrived, at least not intact. He was here for Jon Connington, his sworn bannerman, his responsibility. That was the beginning and end of it. As to the other matter …

_What would Robert have done?_ Stannis silently scoffed, pushing that thought aside. Robert was hardly the shining beacon whose example should be followed when trying to decide on a course of action. And yet, much as it pained him to admit it, Stannis knew that Robert would have been more decisive, would not have spent so much time considering and reconsidering the consequences in his mind. Stannis was almost at the Red Keep itself, and his mind was still not made up.

_So what? What's the point of being decisive if it means making a foolish and dangerous decision?_ He replied to the berating voice in his head.

_What would Father have done?_ His father would have listened to the king's angry rants, and saw the anguish and despair driving all the rage and resentment. _"Aerys is still like a boy in many ways. A boy who feels inadequate, living his life under the shadow of his illustrious grandfather, and now under his illustrious Hand."_ Steffon Baratheon had let that slip in front of his sons at dinner one night, only to be met with his wife's warning glare._ Not in front of the children_, she was obviously warning him.

_"We are not that different, you and I. Always in the shadow. Always merely second-best. Second-rate. Never good enough in the eyes of others. Not as good as your brother Robert. Not as good as my grandfather, then my father, then my own Hand. And now my son."_ The king had said that as well to Stannis, in a moment of confidences never sought but still received.

_Is that why he wants me to be his Hand? Because he thinks I understand what it is like? That we are kindred spirit?_

That was a singularly bad reason for choosing a Hand of the King, Stannis thought. He had no illusions about his own strengths and weaknesses, his own abilities and capabilities. He knew, even while Robert was still alive, that he would have done a better job being the Lord of Storm's End. And he also knew that he was not the right person to be Hand of the King, not now. He had rarely set foot in King's Landing, had no interest in dealing with all the scheming and plotting and backstabbing. And he was far too young and inexperienced for the job.

Tywin Lannister was not much older when he was made Hand of the King, Stannis recalled. But he was a different sort of man, Stannis also knew.

The throne room was filled with various lords, knights and common folks, all making their various appeals. The king was sitting on the throne, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else in the world. Incredibly, none of those present spoke of Prince Rhaegar, or his two companions who had been arrested alongside him. The business of the realm went on as usual, or so it seemed. _Are there forces assembling in other parts of the kingdom on Rhaegar's behalf?_ Stannis suspected there were. This was merely the deceptive calm before the storm.

He fixed his gaze on the king, his thoughts swirling with all the contradictory stories he had heard, as well as the things he had observed and perceived himself about the king.

_If Rhaegar wishes to put himself on the throne, of course he would have to find some sort of justification_, Stannis thought. _My father is mad, my father is cruel, my father -_

_But Rhaegar is the Crown Prince, he will be king one day after his father's death, if he only sits quietly and wait. Why would he risk all that, unless there is a very good reason for it?_ Stannis was arguing with himself in his head.

_Aerys is the rightful king, _he pushed back._ Where would we be, if everyone thinks they know best, without regard for rules and laws. Wars and bloodshed and constant instability in the realm, that's where._

The king finally noticed Stannis standing at the back of the room. "My new Hand of the King has arrived," he said eagerly. "Come, Stannis, sit with the rest of the Small Council members."

Stannis saw his grave mistake immediately. He should have waited to see the king privately. But he had wanted to observe the king in public, conducting his duties. Had wanted to see if … if …

_You wanted to see if the stories were true_, a voice said accusingly in his head. Strangely, it did not sound like his own voice. It sounded so much like the king's angry and hurt tone.

"Lord Stannis Baratheon, Hand of the King," the steward was intoning. Faces after faces turned to stare at Stannis, some smiling, some with ill-concealed curiosity and suspicion. He was not known to most of these lords and knights, not the way Robert had been.

What was he to do? Taking that seat with the rest of the Small Council members would have indicated his acceptance. And yet, how could he defy his king?

Relief came from the most unexpected source. "Your Grace, perhaps Lord Stannis would like to rest after his long journey? You have much business to attend to today; this session could last all afternoon. You could speak with him in private after that," Lord Varys said.

The king frowned at first, but then nodded vigorously. "Of course, of course. Tower of the Hand is prepared for you, Stannis."

_Now why did the Spider do that?_ Stannis wondered. He suddenly recalled the queen's words. _"Aerys wants you as his Hand, but the Spider argued strenuously against it."_

_He does not like me, and I do not trust him. _

Stannis did not make his way to Tower of the Hand; he did not think it his place to do so, despite what the king had said. He was walking along the corridor in the Red Keep, thinking of Princess Elia and her children and if they were imprisoned as well, when a voice called out to him. A boy's voice. "Cousin Stannis," the voice said.

_He does not have his brother's charms or good looks_, Stannis thought dispassionately, as he stared at the face of Prince Viserys. The second son.

"Prince Viserys," Stannis greeted the boy.

The boy shook his head. "Cousin Viserys, please. You are my cousin, are you not?"

_Well, he does have something in common with his brother after all_, Stannis thought. He was getting impatient with all the talk of cousin and blood ties between the Targaryens and Baratheons.

_Suddenly that blood tie is of the utmost importance, with war possibly approaching_, Stannis thought cynically. It was never really mentioned before, as far as Stannis knew. King Aegon V had allowed his children to marry for love, as he himself had done, but that did not mean that the rest of the Targaryens thought too highly about Rhaelle Targaryen marrying a Baratheon.

"Yes, I am, my prince," Stannis replied. "Your second cousin. My lord father was His Grace the king's first cousin."

Prince Viserys was accompanied by the youngest member of the Kingsguard, the son of Tywin Lannister. He stood quite a distance away, looking almost bored.

_Did you dream of glory and splendor in the field of battles, instead of following a young boy around_? Stannis scoffed silently at Jaime Lannister. But he sobered up quickly as he remembered that Jaime Lannister might have his chance in the field of battles after all, very soon. And so would countless others, including himself, whether they wished for it or not.

"Are you here to see my brother?" Viserys asked.

"No, I am here at the king's command," Stannis replied. _Surely the boy knew of his brother's fate?_

His next sentence confirmed that the boy at least had some inkling. But how much he really knew, Stannis could not tell. "Father is very angry with Rhaegar. I'm not allowed to see him. No one is allowed to see him. Not even Elia and the children."

So Princess Elia and her children had escaped Rhaegar's fate, at least so far, Stannis thought. Maybe the thought of Dorne and its wrath was in the king's consideration.

"Are you to be my father's new Hand?" Viserys was asking Stannis.

Stannis hesitated.

"Do you know what happened to the old one?" Viserys whispered before Stannis could answer the previous question.


End file.
